


East of Eden

by bluefreaky



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Armageddon doesn't happen but we're not out of the woods yet, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale rolls up his sleeves and Crowley almost loses it., Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel is a wanker, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Is that canon? It should be, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, Reincarnation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but they're trying, cats are an important part of this story, lack of communication skills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefreaky/pseuds/bluefreaky
Summary: What if Eve never left the Earth? What if Eden returned? What if our Ineffable Idiots had to try to save the World a second time?Prologue Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been enjoying themselves in the days after the Apocawasn't. But Crowley needs a nap, and while he's asleep, Aziraphale does some serious soul searching.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy. This is my first fan fiction. Thank you for reading.

After they had fooled their respective bosses, eaten at the Ritz, and gotten ridiculously drunk for several days running, Crowley felt the need for a snake nap, ie, hibernation. He was even more frayed at the edges than usual, he still kept thinking of the burning bookshop, and he really, really needed to be still for a while. The only way Crowley on a good day could be still was to be unconscious, and though the last few days had been indeed quite good, his nerves were still coiled up inside him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But he couldn’t do that to Arizaphale, go off to sleep for a year, and really, he usually only did that when he was in a major snit about something the angel had said or done. He decided upon a short nap, only a week or two, but he realized he still needed to tell the angel. They had not parted ways since they traded back their bodies. They had spent most of the time in the bookshop, which, if Crowley were honest with himself (he did try to be, but it didn’t always work out), felt more like home than his own flat in Mayfield.

They were eating dinner at some hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant that Aziraphale was convinced had the best lamb vindaloo ever created by human hands.

“Angel, I need to sleep for a bit. It’s kind of a reset after all we’ve been through.”

Silence. Aziraphale looked frightened and distraught, which made Crowley feel quite guilty, a feeling he didn't like to admit he was capable of. The silence hung around a bit longer.

Finally, Arizaphale stirred and put on a tight smile. “Well, we have been together rather constantly the last few days. I can understand why you might be feeling bored.”

Crowley blinked. “No, that’s not it at all. Not bored. Not at all. Really, it’s more a need to recover from what happened with, you know, near-Armageddon and all” _and seeing your bookshop burning and thinking you were dead._ “And I don’t plan to sleep that long, probably just a couple of weeks.”

“But what if something happens? How do I know you will be safe?”

“Angel, I do not at all want to make you upset, and I am also nervous about you being safe. But sleeping is the only way I know to keep sane. And sleeping just one night doesn’t really seem to work for me.”

Aziraphale swallowed, took a deep breath, and seemed to come to a decision. “Crowley, why don’t you sleep in my bed? It’s really there for show as I never use it, and that way I would know you were safe” and near." Aziraphale was inwardly panicking, both about Crowley being far away from him and about the fact he had just made this offer, but the only outward sign was him wringing his hands, pressed tight against his ample belly. He also stared down at the table, not meeting the demon's gaze.

It should go without saying that Crowley noticed this.

Crowley was speechless for a moment. _Wow, thank you G-, universe.* “_ Um, sure, OK. That sounds like a good plan _.”_ ***** note: Crowley had decided since Armegednot that he needed a new word to throw around as explanation for everything. He decided upon universe because it was neither occult or celestial and because he loved dearly the stars. He had created a great deal of them, after all. *****

Some hours later found them back at the bookshop. Crowley was asleep in the bedroom in the upstairs flat, and Aziraphale was trying to read in his favorite chair downstairs in the back of the shop where he and Crowley often drank and talked their usual nonsense. He had decided to take Crowley on his word about the length of his sleep (and if he went beyond exactly two weeks, Aziraphale would be throwing some very cold water on the sleeping demon).

The last few weeks had been too busy for reflection, an act which Aziraphale tried to avoid even at the best of times. But this particular night, he found he could not concentrate on his book to read more than a sentence a time. Unsurprisingly, he kept thinking of Crowley.

After the Apocalypse that wasn’t and after they had fooled their respective head offices, Aziraphale had felt a profound easing of something, like he had been in pain before but had never admitted to it or maybe even been aware of it. He no longer felt as afraid about his “fraternizing” with Crowley and that was a lightening in his heart that he was not sure what to do with. He just knew he wanted to keep Crowley close. Always.

Tonight, his mind wandered to his memories of Crowley, and at first, his thoughts were pleasant, full of their shared history of bantering and drunken conversations and laughter. His mind replayed highlights of their 6,000 year Arrangement (because really, it HAD started on the wall over Eden, even if neither would admit it). 

He thought of Crowley’s face when he told him he had given the flaming sword away, the astonishment and pure delight. Arizaphale thought of a demon hiding children in the Ark. He thought of crepes in Paris and a satchel of books in a church in England.

But then Arizaphale began to think of all the times he had doubted Crowley, had accused him of creating evil that the humans had actually devised all by themselves just fine. He thought of how frightened he had been during that car ride in London in 1941, right after the rescue, not just because of Crowley’s driving but also because he had just realized that he loved Crowley and that Crowley, on some level he didn’t think demons capable of, cared about him. And this absolutely terrified him in every which way--Heaven, Hell, fear of Falling, fear of rejection, fear of change.

It scared him almost as much as the thought of giving holy water to Crowley did. But he had done that eventually, out of fear that the demon would destroy himself in the process of trying to steal it. And from what Crowley had told him of the events of That Day, this had saved Crowley’s life. Aziraphale had come through, in the end, he had been a good friend.

So why did he feel so guilty?

_I was so awful to him. He wanted us to run away together, and I said no, not just because I wanted to save the Earth, but because I was terrified of the consequences. I did want to save the Earth, and I could have reasoned with him about staying if I had not been so afraid. But instead I told him we were not friends._

_I told the person I love the most that I was not even his friend._

_And then he still came back, and I rejected him again._

_And when I saw him again, and he said he had lost his best friend, I was absolutely incapable of telling him how glad I was to see him, that I was so relieved to see him. Yet of everywhere I could have gone when I came back to Earth, I found him, I came to him._

_And he was so, so relieved to see me, and then he drove through fire, destroying the Bentley, for heaven’s sake, to meet me. And then when I asked him to do something, to make it all better when it seemed we were doomed, he halted Time itself._

_And I lied to him. I did not tell him about the book, about what I had figured out. Hell almost destroyed him, and I was too busy trying to figure out how to dial up the Almighty to care._

_He always comes back. He always saves me, he always comes through, and I, I just do not come up to snuff. I always dither and bicker and distrust and fear. I don’t deserve Crowley. He is a demon, and yet he is so much more more than I am._

These thoughts did not come to Aziraphale all at once, but over several days. Days where he did not move from his seat, days where he made himself review every slight, every refusal, every rejection Aziraphale had ever made to his beloved friend.

After one full day, he began to sob, and then he did not stop. His clothes and favorite chair took quite the soaking, but he never moved. 

* * *

Almost exactly six days from the start of his "nap", Crowley awoke. He had had a bad dream about Aziraphale, that he had been crying, weeping even. It wasn’t the wake-up-in-a-panic-thinking-my-beloved-angel-is-in-danger dream (which he knew quite well), but it was enough to rouse him. He found that he wanted to get up more than he wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted coffee. Black, black strong, blessed--ugh, no--demonic? ugh no--coffee.

He arose, stretched, miracled himself presentable, and sauntered downstairs, a little dazedly in his pre-coffee state. Truth to tell, he missed Aziraphale, and that was a big part of him rousing so early.

“Angel, the Beast has Awokened.” Crowley like to play with grammar because he knew it unnerved the very literate angel. ***** “Give him coffee and he will spare your life!” ***** note: Also, he had pretty much created the texting lexicon as a giant prank that he was still waiting for Aziraphale to even notice, given the angel was still using a telephone that by all rights should have stopped working sixty years ago. *****

Crowley turned the corner from the stairs, and audibly gasped. His angel was indeed weeping, just like in his dream.

Aziraphale looked worse than Crowley had ever seen him. And Crowley had seen him after the burning of the Alexandrian Library and after the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Aziraphale’s eyes were redshot beyond belief and glazed, and his entire face was swollen. A literal puddle of water had gathered around his chair, and he seemed to be soaked through and through. He did not rouse at all from Crowley’s voice.

Crowley froze momentarily in panic, and then ran to his angel and grabbed him by shoulders, leaning over him. “Aziraphale? Angel, can you hear me? What has happened?”

Aziraphale blinked and then shook his head, trying to come back to reality. He realized Crowley was leaning over him, eyes wide with concern.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He began to cry again.

Crowley took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his own and kneeled in front of the angel’s chair, oblivious to the water soaking into the knees of his jeans. “Angel, what has happened?”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath and looked into Crowley’s eyes. He hadn’t expected Crowley to wake up this soon and had hoped for a few days to recover and not look like a complete mess. But he supposed it didn’t matter. He had been such an awful friend to this ridiculously wonderful being, and he had to atone. He had no idea how to do it, but he knew it had to start with a heartfelt apology.

“I was so awful to you, there at the end. I was so scared, and I said things I didn’t mean, said them and was horrified and sorry as I was saying them, but I couldn’t stop. I lied to you about knowing Adam’s location. I was so frightened of you getting hurt, but I was also afraid of Falling, of Heaven, of what would happen if I admitted my, my . . . feelings for you.”

Crowley stopped breathing. He was so, so not ready for this conversation, least of all because he had just woken up and not had coffee yet. But he was also taken aback about how awful Aziraphale looked—like he had been crying fairly steadily for several days. Could an angel discorporate from crying too much? Crowley wasn’t about to let them find out.

The thing was, Crowley had been very upset and hurt at Aziraphale’s words and behavior right before the Apocawasn’t. But he also knew how Heaven treated Aziraphale (and he had been astonished to find out it was worse than he had thought). He knew how terribly anxious Aziraphale had been fairly constantly throughout their entire 6000-year relationship. And really, most of his anger had instantly disappeared inside a burning bookshop.

Crowley also had a very bad habit of putting his emotions in low priority, compared to the angel’s. Thing was, Crowley was himself a bit of a mess. 

“Aziraphale. I completely forgive you. I already did. Let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in you. We can talk about this later.” He realized he had absolutely no idea what time it was. It was daylight though. Crepes were a daylight kind of food, right? “Let’s go for crepes.”

“Thank you, dear. But I’m not at all hungry.”

Crowley started panicking again. That was a really bad sign, Aziraphale not wanting to eat.

They had an unspoken Agreement between themselves, probably not even known by them enough to be spoken aloud, that only one of them would freak out at a time. If one was panicking, the other would maintain calm. Although he had saved Aziraphale’s life several times over the past eons, Aziraphale and he had both saved each other’s sanity numerous more times. Somehow, each knew how to be strong for the other, even when incapable of being strong for their own self.

Crowley stood but continued to hold Aziraphale’s hands, and looked him in the eye (he hadn’t even gotten around to putting his sunglasses on yet). “Come on, angel, come sit with me, and let’s figure this out together.”

Aziraphale looked up at him seeming lost and forlorn. “Why do you still bother with me?”

Crowley looked at him, his heart breaking, and gave the wickedest grin he could summon. “Because you gave away your flaming sword. Because you tempted me with oysters. Because you’re the only bastard who can drink me under the table. Because it would be utterly boring to do a really brilliant work of demonic genius and not be able to share it with someone who understands its brilliance.” _Because I do not want to imagine a life without you._

Aziraphale stood up, a little shaky. Crowley led him to the couch and they sat down together, knees and shoulders touching. Aziraphale took some deep but shaky breaths. Crowley watched him with concern.

“I…. I want to make amends. I want to be a good friend to you, as good as you have been to me.”

Crowley considered this for a moment. He turned sideways so that he was facing the angel. “You can do that by never, ever leaving my side again. Our side. Tha-, that’s all it takes. That’s all I want.” Crowley gulped. He had gotten mostly over his fear of Hell when it came to expressing emotions that were not Evil, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him. He had been hiding those feelings for over six thousand years. And being a demon wasn’t exactly great for one’s self-esteem.

Aziraphale looked at him, straight in his golden yellow eyes. A part of Crowley wished he was wearing sunglasses. He did not summon them. Aziraphale looked suddenly more like an angel, a glowing power rising in him to speak truth to his feelings, eyes boring into Crowley’s.

“I will never, ever leave your side again. I promise. We are our own side.”

Crowley hugged him then, the first ever, the kind of hug you hope to keep happening forever. He would never have had the courage normally, but some part of him acted without thinking, probably sensing how much Aziraphale needed it right then. And Aziraphale hugged back, desperately, because he would always be utterly humbled by Crowley’s ability to forgive, to hold no grudges, to, well, yes, to love.

The day slowly returned to some semblance of normality. Crowley miracled away the small flood of tears while Aziraphale took a hot bath. After that Aziraphale still looked and felt fairly wrecked, so he kept the store closed, and Crowley fetched him sushi (and bourbon). Aziraphale read, Crowley looked at his phone, catching up on social media and news. He started a few rumors about some notable Torys through Twitter, just for shits and giggles.

Not long after the sun set, Crowley turned to Aziraphale who still looked rather wan and whose eyes still had circles under them from all of the crying he had done. “Angel, you look exhausted. Why don’t you sleep tonight? I bet you would feel better in the morning.”

Aziraphale glanced up from his book. “I don’t normally enjoy sleeping, but I do suppose you are right. But what are you going to do?” He was suddenly very reluctant to let the demon leave, but he supposed he was being selfish.

Truth to tell, Crowley was equally reluctant to leave, partly because he was still worried about his angel, but also because he still felt a little spooked in his own flat after that horror with Ligur. “I dunno. Guess I could go back to Mayfield and harass the plants. Guess I will probably also sleep, though just for the night.”

A long silence fell, then Aziraphale, staring at the floor, mumbled, “Would you mind staying here tonight? I don’t really want to be alone.”

Crowley was glad his sunglasses were hiding his eyes, and he tried to keep the relieved smile as carefree looking as possible (which he was failing utterly at, though he refused to admit it to himself). “No, of course, I don’t mind, angel. I am happy to, uh, I mean, It’s not a problem.”

“Oh good. Thank you so much, Crowley! You’ve been ever so good to me.”

Crowley was about to complain about the word “good” being in the same sentence as his name, but then, why was he still pretending? He was a lousy demon, he had always been a lousy demon (and evidently a lousy angel, too, but he didn’t want to think about that too much). He was not particularly good at being good, but he could be good towards and for Aziraphale. Always.

“So how about I make us"--and by “us” Crowley meant “you”--"some cocoa and get you tucked in?”

“Oh, Crowley, you are my guest, I will be happy to sleep on the couch.”

“Six thousand years, and I’m still a guest?” He grinned, making it clear he was teasing. “Aziraphale, you need sleep more than I do, and I will be fine on the couch. Let me get started on that cocoa.”

Crowley miracled the cocoa because he hadn’t the faintest idea how to actually cook the stuff. He poured himself a stiff bourbon and then poured a little into the cocoa. He took both cups upstairs.

Aziraphale had changed into the most ridiculous tartan pajamas that had ever existed and then had gotten into bed. Crowley put the cups down on the bedside table, then sat at the edge of the bed. He was a little nervous being in a bedroom with Aziraphale, and it was equal parts terror and desire.

“Oh thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale sipped the cocoa. If he noticed it had been miracled or bourboned, he did not mention it. Crowley chugged his bourbon, then miracled it full again.

“Angel, I will be right here, downstairs, if you need anything at all, anything.” He gulped. He had meant that innocently, but it had come out with just a hint of longing.

“Crowley. . . why, why don’t you just sleep here? It’s a huge bed; there’s plenty of room for both of us.” Aziraphale almost wondered if he had been possessed. Had he really just said that?

Crowley gulped again. His brain started to spiral in a million different directions with terror, desire, and compassion all having their say. Am I really going to be idiotic enough to say No? Or am I crazy enough to say Yes? Can I actually sleep in bed with Aziraphale without discorporating myself? Or both of us?  
Ultimately, it came down to the very simple truth that Crowley could not say no to his angel.

“OK. It would be more comfortable. And that way, I am right here if you need anything.” Oh fuck, that did not come out right either!

Aziraphale just smiled. His heart had been on a roller coaster ride, but he was starting to recover, and he was starting to have some new ideas about what it meant to be on their own side. He finished his cocoa and made room for Crowley.

Since the idea of undressing in front of Aziraphale seemed, well, more than he could handle at the moment, Crowley miracled his clothes into some black silken pajamas. Do it with style, after all. He got into bed. Aziraphale hadn’t gotten over that far, so their shoulders touched. He didn’t move over.

“You ready for me to turn out the light, angel?”

“Oh yes, please.” Crowley turned out the light.

“Goodnight Crowley.”

“Goodnight angel.”

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“I am so very happy that you are here with me, that we are our own side, that, that you slithered up beside that day in Eden so long ago.”

“Me too, angel. Me too.” And both, probably due to emotional exhaustion, fell asleep.

* * *

That night, Aziraphale had a dream. A dream that was obviously also a summons. 

  
He approached a white wooden cottage in a small yard. He saw sunlight and trees and a small garden. He walked to the back of the house, with a large greenhouse and a driveway. The Bentley was there.

  
A voice spoke in his mind. _My dearest Aziraphale, In one year’s time, you must go to the Borough of Carr in the Northern Americas. Remember that you are still the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and that as such, it is your task to protect Eden and its children. You must save them. You must save her._

* * *

Crowley dreamed of a garden and a tree. And a face he had not seen in six thousand years.

“Hello, old friend,” the woman smiled up at him. “Long time no see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am utterly insane, my first fan fiction is nearly novel-length. Except for some short chapters in the middle, it's basically finished. I'm posting it now to give myself some motivation to do so. Updates probably about twice a week.
> 
> This prologue doesn't do much to move the plot, but it is germane to how I describe Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship in this story, one where they are both trying to unlearn some bad habits. The idea that only one of them can freak out at a time almost certainly came to me from SecondHandNews and their amazing Ineffably Yours series. (Hopefully I am going to figure out how to hyperlink in the Notes at some point, and I will come back and add a link).
> 
> Comments are welcome. Thanks to all of the amazing writers, artists, podfic-makers. May we all stay safe and sane.


	2. Chapter One: Waiting for the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena is just trying to clean her house and not think about all of the trouble in the world. But then the world almost ends, and Athena is left with some overwhelming memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we actually get into the plot. Fair warning: Our supernatural boys aren't going to make another appearance until chapter 3. This chapter features an OC, the next chapter features some not-so-friendly faces from GO.
> 
> CW: lots of swearing and some alcohol abuse.

It had been a very odd last couple of days, if you at all followed the news, which Athena did. Increasing international tensions, that weird shit with the nuclear reactors, then even crazier shit with the Kraken and Atlantis and everything else. Downright Apocalyptic, she thought, even if she was an avowed atheist.1

Athena was trying to get her mind off all of it that Saturday afternoon by doing some much needed house cleaning. Cleaning out litter boxes, washing dishes, wiping counters, all of the mundane but absolutely necessary tasks that humans without gobs of money have to do. She was just starting at sweeping the spare bedroom when the light in the room suddenly became much darker. She turned to look out the window to her back yard—outside it was almost dark. Exactly then, her phone rang a warning sound.

_Whoa._

She leaned the broom against the wall and quickly strode to the back door. I’ll never get the cats in before this hits. However, when she opened the screen door, before she could even open her mouth to call their names, three cats came racing from different directions, a slightly pudgy tuxedo from the neighbor’s back yard that abutted hers, two buff ones racing from around the corner of her house.

All of the cats cannonballed themselves into the house, their paws thumping on the linoleum of the kitchen, then into her bedroom. When she followed them, she realized they had run all run under the bed. She saw light flash in the bedroom window, followed alarmingly soon after by a house-shaking roll of thunder.

Wondering if she should get under the bed herself, Athena grabbed her phone on the nightstand and looked at the emergency alerts. Thunderstorm Warning, oh sure, but there were several other alerts as well. Tornado Watch. Tropical Storm Watch. Hurricane Watch. Wait, what?

She looked at the radar on her phone app. It was completely purple, which she had never seen before. She zoomed the screen out to see the storm’s size. Then she zoomed out again. And again. And again.

The storm did not have an end. It was all purple, everywhere.

Thunder boomed so loud it made the windows shake. Or maybe that was from the sudden gust of wind.

She opened up CNN on her phone, but it was loading very slowly, and suddenly the screen was telling her it had no signal at all. But before she could reset the modem, the power went out. Fortunately, her phone was fully charged.

Athena was an intelligent woman and good in a pinch. Even if she could get her phone’s web to work, she would no longer waste time or battery power on frivolities. She found her weather radio and flashlight. She turned on the radio in case there was a tornado warning.

Athena also loved seeing (and hearing and smelling) storms and weather in general, so she couldn’t help but go out onto the back stoop and look up. It was raining, but not very hard. The wind was gusting at some impressive speeds. She considered trying to move the garbage cans and lawn furniture into the garage. Too late for that. She fervently hoped no tree limbs would fall on her seen-much-better-days car. The detached garage was far too small and full of crap to fit it.

Athena went inside, back to her bedroom, and considered her options. The weather radio was issuing so many warnings, watches and advisories that she couldn’t keep up. She glanced at her phone. Odd that there weren’t any texts—her friends could do some insane group texting.

_Dad. Oh, I hope you’re OK._

She opened up Signal and started typing. “Dad, it looks like you are having some really bad weather. Let me know you are OK. Love you.” Send.

Not ten seconds later, her phone beeped. MESSAGE FAILED.

She clicked Resend. MESSAGE FAILED.

Athena had been fighting off panic but now the adrenaline was coursing. Her hands shook as she speed dialed her father. Nothing happened. The phone flashed “No service.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

_. . . Well, at least you have a full fifth of vodka. And seltzer. You even have a lime._

She peaked under the bed with the flashlight. All three cats were huddled together. “I love you Ruthie. I love you Juniper. I love you Agent Cooper. I’m not sure we’re gonna make it, but I promise I will keep you safe if it’s at all possible.”

Athena turned off the weather radio and went into the kitchen, where she made herself a very large but not so stiff drink. She did have to keep her wits about her, after all. She took a gulp of her drink.

_Fucking endtimes._

Athena was buzzed and bored and scared. She hadn’t known one could be bored and scared at the same time, but there it was.2 Several minutes, maybe a half hour, had passed. She didn’t really know because when she restarted the phone, out of desperation for any news, it wasn’t even telling time anymore, and she didn’t own a non-digital clock. She peeked outside for the umpteenth time. It was still very dark, though it wasn’t raining any longer.

She had a sudden inspiration. Perhaps actually it was hysteria. She went into her bedroom closet and found a very short, very sequined dress and changed into it. She donned some shiny earrings. In the bathroom, Athena applied some electric blue eyeliner and some metallic blue lipstick. She then made herself another very large drink.

Athena went outside with the drink and her phone and found her favorite beach/ lawn chair. She sat down and gulped the drink. There was absolutely no one else outside on her street.

She felt like a maniac, but found the feeling oddly comforting.

“If you gotta go, then do it with style.”

Athena lounged like she meant it, and looked up at the thick, dark sky.

Suddenly, the sky changed. The clouds disappeared, but in their place there were PEOPLE. Thousands and thousands of PEOPLE. PEOPLE standing in the sky. PEOPLE with WINGS.

Athena would have found this more terrifying had it not been for the sudden buzzing within her. Not a buzz like a sound, more like a spark running though every nerve in her body. It burned, but mentally, not physically. It was visceral.

It hurt like hell.3

_Great. The fucking apocalypse is happening, and I’m having a stroke._

Athena tried to take deep breaths to calm herself. She concentrated, as much as she was able, on the figures in the sky. There were clearly two distinct groups, each facing one another. Sides, definitely two sides. Two sides in a battle. One was bathed in a radiant gold light, the other in a duller reddish glow. Neither lights seemed to illuminate anything around them, which seemed very, very odd, if not impossible.

And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. The clouds were back, but much less threatening. The sky lightened, and a sense of relief washed over her, as if the World had released its breath. The buzzy sparky thing coursing through her vanished at the same moment. Her phone beeped maybe thirty times. She had zero interest in picking it up. She sat for a few minutes, feeling numb, sipping at her drink.

Her breathing had just returned to normal, and she was considering checking her phone, when just as quickly as things had brightened, they darkened again. The air became still and heavy and awful. Her stomach turned over, and her heart began to race anew.

 _It’s not over. Oh God, it’s not over._ The World seemed to hold its breath again. The World waited.

Ever so slightly, something shifted somewhere / everywhere. Slightly, but profoundly. The World seemed to sigh. The sun came out, and birds started singing. Inside, Athena’s cats stopped cowering under the bed and instead decided to nap on top of it.

But something had shifted inside of Athena, too. She was afraid something had actually snapped inside her. Because the sudden rush of images overfilling her already exhausted mind were memories _She. Had. Never. Had._ Memories different people had had of different places and different times. Going back far, so far (too far).

Athena got up, grabbed her empty glass and still beeping phone, and went inside. She threw off the sequin dress and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her and not even bothering to undress further or take out her contacts. She looked at her phone, ignoring almost all of the message threads except one.

There were two messages. “Honey, I hope you are OK. I love you.” And “We had some crazy weather here, but we are fine. Love you.” She texted back to her Dad, “We had bad weather here too, but it’s over and I am fine. Talk to you soon. Love you.” Then she turned her phone off and curled into a fetal position. The alcohol and utter exhaustion knocked her out, and she slept for 13 hours straight. Her cats slept around and on top of her and she never stirred, even when they started walking on her, demanding dinner.

* * *

That night, Athena had a dream. She dreamed of a garden, a gorgeous walled garden. And in the center of that garden was a hill.

And on that hill was a tree. 

An apple tree.

Athena walked up to the tree and looked up into its bowers. A large, black and red iridescent snake began to slither down the trunk in a way that seemed to defy gravity.

The snake stopped when it was eye-to-eye with Athena and poked its head out, peering at her through its golden eyes. A little red tongue flicked out.

Athena smiled her warmest, happiest smile.

“Hello, old friend. Long time no see.”

* * *

Footnotes:

1\. Like most Gen Xers, Athena pretty much always had a sense that the world was going to end in her lifetime. Probably a result of growing up in the shadow of the Cold War… and Boomers.↩

2\. Athena had not (yet) experienced living in a pandemic under lockdown for three months. *sigh*↩

3\. Actually, it hurt like heaven and hell.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I read a chapter of IneffableFangirl_writes "Reviews of AZ Fell & Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books" where the reviewer remembers that the bookshop burned down, when no one else seems to do so. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735315/chapters/48797735). That got me thinking about what it would be like if I was the only person to remember the events of that fateful day the World didn't end. And here we are.
> 
> There is probably a rule against writing one's self into fan-fiction, but again, here we are, sauntering vaguely downward. To my defense, my middle name is really Athena, so not claiming to wise or anything (though possibly defensive).
> 
> I can't seem to get the damn footnotes to work. 
> 
> Much love to the fandom. I hope everything is safe and healthy and hanging in there.


	3. Chapter Two: Michael's Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In heaven, Michael makes a startling discovery. Unfortunately, this means they have to talk to Gabriel.

The Archangel Michael signed the form in triplicate, rolled it up, and inserted it into the pneumatic tube beside their desk. It zoomed upward in a satisfying whoosh. They loved paperwork and signing forms and sending them along. It was soothing.

Bureaucracy was Michael’s second favorite thing in the Universe. Their first was smiting demons,1 but thinking about that led to thinking about the Apoca-no-thank-you, which, having not happened as planned a few months prior, still filled Michael with an intense, powerless rage. Not being used to feeling powerless made them even more irate and put out. Thank God for paperwork to take the edge off!

A tentative knock on Michael’s very closed office door interrupted their internal raging.

“You may enter,” they barked.

A very minor celestial being, barely an angel really, meekly opened the door and entered, obviously reluctantly. When the sentry had told his sergeant about what he had seen, he had not at all expected the sergeant to then send him to Head Office to pass the report along. What ever happened to Chain of Command?2

The sentry stopped several feet from Michael’s desk and tremorously cleared his throat, painfully aware of Michael’s cold glare, even though he was staring down at the celestial floor.

“What have you come to say, sentry?” Michael made a habit to know precisely where and how every angel in Heaven was stationed.

“My Lord, it’s about the Eastern side of Heaven-"

“There is no Eastern side to Heaven,” Michael interrupted. _Not anymore._

“That is what I have come to report, My Lord. There is one now.”

Michael blinked, and a strange sinking feeling came over their celestial non-body.

“Show me.”

* * *

Michael stood atop the wall surrounding the Eastern part of Heaven (a wall which had miraculously (ha ha) appeared when Heaven suddenly had an Eastern side to it). They peered out through the misty radiance. _Yes, just as I had suspected._3 It was back, as if it had never left, as if all of the many millennia had never passed.

The garden. THE Garden.

_Fuck._

* * *

Some time later, Michael returned to Head Office and headed to Archangel Gabriel’s.

_Oh I really do not want to have this fucking conversation with fucking Gabriel._

It was bad enough, having to knock on Gabriel’s door and feign obedient respect to that git. They had not spoken to Gabriel since Doomsday had failed to happen, and they weren’t in the least bit interested in altering this pattern. But duty calls and knocks, unfortunately. They knocked, assertively, on Gabriel’s office door.

“Come in, come in! Oh Michael, this is an unexpected but delightful surprise.” Gabriel fairly radiated fake camaraderie, his smile utterly devoid of any real warmth as he held out his hand. He did not stand.

Michael closed the door behind them and approached the desk. “Oh, Gabriel, the pleasure is all mine, to see you, again.” Michael shook his hand, trying to hold their temper. _Maybe this is worth it, just to see the git’s face when I tell him._

“However,” they continued, “what I have to discuss with you is not I fear particularly delightful.”

Gabriel paused in surprise, a little caught off guard both by the visit and by Michael’s words. “Sit down.” He pointed to the nearby chair on the other side of his desk.

Michael sat. “Gabriel, a sentry came to see me recently with some very startling news concerning the Eastern side of Heaven.”

“Michael—”

“Yes, Gabriel,” continued Michael, unwilling to brook interruptions, “I am well aware that Heaven is not supposed to have an Eastern side, has not had one, except for that one time eons ago. But Gabriel, the Eastern side is back and guess what’s on the other side of it?”

“No…. Really?”

“Yes, really. Eden is back, Gabriel. I saw it with my own eyes. I thought it best to confirm the sentry’s report personally, given the obvious importance.”

Gabriel was actually, perhaps for the second time in his infinite life, speechless.4

Michael tried to keep from smirking. “What do you want me to do about this, Gabriel?”

Gabriel blinked. Then his martial instincts recovered. “Tell me everything you know. How long has it been back? What does it look like now?”

Michael had to admit that they were impressed by Gabriel’s quick recovery. The git was smooth and quite sharp, even if Michael intensely disliked him.5

“I don’t know how exactly long it’s been back, the sentry watches over all of heaven after all, so it may have taken him some time to discover it, and it‘s not like anyone else would be wandering the edges of the realm. But I think it’s safe to say that it hasn’t been back very long.”

“I’m surprised we didn’t sense its reappearance or that the Metatron didn’t inform us about it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know.” Gabriel grinned. He always liked it when the Metatron was the last angel to know about one of Her plans. But then his grin abruptly vanished— “Why now of all times? Do you think Eden reappeared when….” he grimaced, the memory of Armagedon’tyoudare causing something between rage and pain. “The timing does seem suspect, does it not?” “Could this have been done by the brat?” Gabriel almost choking on the last two words.

“I truly do not know. I hope not. As for what it looks like, Eden looks exactly the same as it did when it first appeared those many eons ago. Absolutely identical.”

“Wait, do you mean?”

“Yes, Gabriel. The Tree is back. As if She had never ripped it out of the earth. As if the humans had never eaten its fruit.”

“Wait, they aren’t there, are they?”

“I didn’t go in, but I don’t think so. The Garden seemed empty and quiet.”

Both celestial beings fell silent, pondering the implications of it all.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “You know, I never really understood the whole Earth and Eden thing in the first place. She said she was going to create them for the humans, but then She put the humans in Eden, so the rest of Earth seemed a bit of overkill, frankly. But then the humans went and disobeyed Her, like the idiots they are, and they were kicked out of Eden and had to go to the rest of Earth. And then she made Eden disappear, but I never understood why exactly. It’s not like the humans could break into it if she willed them not to, and it’s not like we were going to do anything to it.” He laughed weakly, “Oh well, out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”

Michael tried to keep their face from registering the shock they fell at Gabriel opening up to them in this way. _There’s a first for everything, I guess._ “I always thought Eden was like a little zoo we could go visit on occasion, not that I ever really wanted to.” A sudden thought: “Gabriel, if we can see Eden, can the humans?”

“Or Down Below?”

“I could try to find out about that through a back—”

“Absolutely not, Michael. Do you hear me? No communication with them at all on this matter. I don’t want them to have the vaguest chance of knowing about It.”

“I can be very subtle”—

“Michael, you WILL obey me in this.”

“Ok, ok. So what should we do then?”

“We need to see how we can use this to our advantage. Against Below and against the humans. First, we collect information. See if the humans know anything about it—have their radios and television programs monitored.6 Also, monitor the Earth for an increase in demonic activity.”

“At this point, any demonic activity would be an increase. I don’t think they have been on Earth since you-know-what, except of course for the traitor.”

“If he can even be called a demon anymore. Put Uriel on the task of watching Earth. You can tell her about Eden.”

“Do you want her to go down there or do it from afar?”

“Definitely she should NOT go down there. I don’t want anything to arouse the suspicions of Below or the traitors or the humans, or, Dear Lord, the brat. In fact, no one of ours is to know about this except for you and me. Not even Uriel is to be told the full story. Everything on a strictly need to know basis, understood?”

“Understood. What about the sentry and his sergeant?”

“Wipe their memories. Have they told anyone else?”

“They swore they had not, and I commanded their silence.”

“Good.” Gabriel paused for a moment, lost in thought. “We need to put a guard on Eden. Summon the four, er three, original Guardians. Tell them She has decided to bring Eden back and that they are once again charged with protecting it from all creatures, including angels. Present it likes its something we already knew about. Make sure they understand that no one, including angels, are to enter Eden, with the exception of myself.”

“What about me?”

“No one, Michael.”

 _Git._ “What about the Eastern Gate? I assume you do not want to rehire its original Guardian?” asked Michael, with just an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Do not speak of the traitor again. Find a new Guardian. Wait, here’s an idea: get that sentry to do it. Don’t wipe his memories. Tell him all of this was a test that he passed with flying colors and that he is being promoted.”

“Got it.”

“And if anyone else reports about Eden, wipe their memories.”

“Gabriel, why are you so worried about other angels finding out about Eden?”

Gabriel took a deep breath. “Because I do not know what this means and I do not know who is responsible. I do not want any angels to be endangered out of recklessness.”

 _No, you just need to be in complete control because you do not know what is going on and that is terrifying to you._ “Well, why don’t you ask Her yourself?” they tried to make the question sound innocent and inwardly laughed. No matter what Gabriel claimed, She had not deigned to speak to any of them in eons, not since the Flood, actually.

A short silence. “I have given you my orders, Michael. You are dismissed.”

Michael bowed graciously. “As you command, Gabriel,” _you git_. They left to find Uriel.

Gabriel took a deep breath. Nothing had been the same since that damn brat had defied orders and stopped the War from starting. He should have realized something like this was going to happen next. It was not lost on him that the traitors each had a part to play in the events that Day in Eden long ago. This couldn’t possibly be their doing? Them and the brat? He supposed he should visit Eden, just to see it for himself.

Make sure there were no serpents this time.

1\. Well of course, She was their favorite entity, but She wasn’t really a thing but a being.↩

2\. What had happened was that the sergeant was nobody’s fool and was not about to be the bearer of such tidings to the Boss. Not that the sergeant even knew what to make of the report--it was just that in Heaven, nothing really happened, so when it did, it was assumed to be A Very Bad Happening. In fact, this was the first time in the several millenia that the sentry had been sentrying that he had ever made a report. The sergeant had actually forgotten that the sentry was even out there.↩

3\. Michael would never admit to “fear” as a verb they were capable of thinking.↩

4\. The first time being when a certain Principality, well as far as Gabriel knew, had stood in Hellfire unharmed. ↩

5\. But then, Michael pretty much intensely disliked everyone, except Her, of course.↩

6\. Heaven was rather behind the time and still thought that the Internet was some passing fad.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise our favorite Duo will be back next chapter.
> 
> There may be some delays in my posting this. One of my kitties, Agent Cooper, has a cancerous tumor. He's only two. Please keep him in your thoughts.
> 
> I hope all of you are well. Here in the US, we are about to have a 3-day weekend. I'm not feeling the least bit patriotic, but it will be nice to have Friday off!


	4. Chapter Three: New Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena gets back from vacation and meets her new neighbors. One of them is a flash bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't do a final edit so apologies for any errors. Just too much going on right now, and I've already gotten way behind schedule. I didn't even go through and format the footnotes. Sorry.
> 
> Please note that in this chapter, Athena threatens to call the police on someone. The story very clearly notes that she is bluffing about this and has no intention of doing so. But that doesn't mean the author endorses this behavior. Don't call the police. Don't threaten people with calling the police.
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and well. Thanks for reading.

The Lyft pulled into Athena’s driveway, and the friendly driver grabbed her bags out of the trunk. “Thanks for the ride. I hope you have a good evening.” She was so tired she did not really hear his response, but when she was inside, she opened up her phone and gave him a tip and a good review. _We’re all in this together._ Her three cats came running into the kitchen, Agent Cooper, Ruthie, and after a short interval, Juniper. She had probably been hiding under the bed until she realized it was Athena. She greeted all 3 in turn, petting the tops of their heads, but truth to tell they seemed more interested in going outside than with hanging out with her. “Not tonight—it’s too late, but tomorrow when I get home from work.”

She dropped some kibble in their bowls and changed their water bowls. Then she opened her suitcase and grabbed at the dirty clothing—throwing it into the washer. Fuck she was tired (and hungover). Fuck she didn’t want to go back to work. _I need a vacation to recover from my vacation._

As exhausted as she was, she had an awful time falling asleep. She felt strangely wound up, and Ruthie jumping up on her chest at 3am didn’t help. _Fine, you can go out then._ It was truly difficult to have a battle of wills with Ruthie, she had to pick her battles.

The next morning, extremely groggy, she pulled out of her driveway. As she approached the house on the right corner, she noticed something quite large and new in the backyard, which abutted her back yard, an immense greenhouse.

 _Wow, that went up quick. Wait, does that mean someone has sold the place?_ The For Sale sign was gone. _How could a closing happen that quickly? Maybe they changed their mind about selling?_ She hoped so—she was not close to her neighbors at all, but she had been afraid that whoever bought the house would remodel it completely into some gargantuan, awful version of itself. This had been happening a lot in her neighborhood.

Then, as she drove to work, she forgot all about the house, her thoughts turning to the insane number of emails she knew would be in the various inboxes she was tasked to answer.

When Athena drove down Oak Ave. towards home that evening, she nearly drove the car into a ditch when she saw the front of that same house. It was in the same style and the same cheerful white, but it seemed much, much bigger. Yet somehow the front yard was not at all smaller.

What. The. Fuck.

Athena was intelligent. She knew full well than an addition to a house would take Town approval, which probably would at least take a month or two. And then the renovation should have taken months itself. And the yard would be a disaster from the construction. And here was this obviously renovated house with a completely intact front yard and immense greenhouse in the back. This was quite frankly impossible, she thought to herself, as she parked her car and walked down the street to the front of the neighbor’s house.

She suddenly felt a familiar hum buzzing in her head. It was quieter, not painful, but distinctly present. _Oh no. Please don’t let this be happening again. Impossible things, and I am the only one who notices. Which probably means I am crazy._

Over the next few days, she cautiously mentioned the renovation to a couple of neighbors and a friend who hung out with her in her backyard. The response she received was the same “oh isn’t that funny, I hadn’t even noticed it.” Same damn answer as with all of the stuff a year ago.

Athena had quickly realized in the aftermath of the near Doomsday that everyone she knew and all of the media did not seem at all concerned with the insane events and humanity’s near brush with extinction. She could find the headlines and news reports from the week of insanity, they still existed, but no one seemed to really give them any thought. At first she thought it was just collective relief, but after trying to discuss that last day with her close friends, she realized they really did not seem to remember it except as a “very odd day” or as “weird weather”. Her friends seemed concerned by her concern about it all, and she had finally dropped the issue.

Frankly, she was not sure if she was crazy or what. She remembered that day, she could still find proof of the events leading up to it, but she seemed the only person on the planet to care. Except for a few evangelicals whose stories came out in such notable journalistic paragons of truth telling as the National Enquirer and the Daily Sun. Definitely not people she wanted to be associated with.

She was terrified that if she told anyone of her experiences (especially if she told a therapist) that she would be committed. So ultimately, she kept her nervous breakdown to herself, felt a lot more lonely even than usual, and just sucked it up. Eventually, after several months, she felt better, more centered, though she still had no idea what had happened to herself, much less to the planet.

So to now have this very close-to-home reminder that she was the only person aware of impossible things going on made her very anxious that she was either having another breakdown or that something very weird was happening. Again. And then there was the weird hum, though it was far less intense. She did not feel it at all in her house, just when she approached that house.

She hadn’t seen anyone come and go from the crazy house (as she had started calling it to herself), though she was at work most of the day. She could see the house from her backdoor, and she took to standing in her kitchen with the lights off, just staring at it. Sometimes there were lights, but she never saw any people come and go. So she watched and she waited.

* * *

Several months earlier, when Aziraphale had awoken after his first true sleep, he had had no doubts that he had been visited by the Almighty, and he was relieved to find he was still in Her Good Graces. It did not even occur to him to disobey her command, even if he wasn’t yet sure what it meant.

And then Crowley told him of his dream of Eden and Eve. It couldn’t be a coincidence. They had both agreed on that point.

What they didn’t agree on was what to do about it.

Crowley took offense at either of them being treated once again like pawns in some ineffable fucking chess game, as he put it. And as they continued to argue about what they should do, it was obvious, painfully obvious, to Aziraphale that Crowley was becoming more and more defensive and drawn into himself.

And who could blame him, after everything that had happened? Aziraphale certainly couldn’t. But he felt fragile, he feared his relationship with Crowley was fragile, and that if he messed up one more time, it would drive Crowley away for good.

“I don’t want to think about this any more right now. It’s too much, after the last few days. I need time to recover, to consider,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley was silent, those damned black glasses hiding his eyes, face unreadable. Aziraphale felt the distance between them growing with each passing second. Any moment now, Crowley would snarl something sarcastic and hurtful and race out of the bookstore leaving Aziraphale alone.

“Crowley, what, whatever I do, whatever _we_ do, I promise it will be a decision we make together. Our side. Please just don’t make me make that decision right now.”

Crowley took a shaky breath. Aziraphale, who was attuned to every nuance of Crowley, saw his shoulders relax slightly, and Aziraphale felt his own abdomen unclench from relief.

Crowley took his glasses off and looked Aziraphale in the eyes. His yellow pupils were blown so wide open so that the yellow rim could barely be seen, and Aziraphale suddenly realized that Crowley had been terrified.

“Of course, angel. Whatever you want.”

Eventually, after several months of arguing, and dropping the subject, and arguing some more, they had come to an agreement. Crowley grudgingly accepted that it might be in the interests of humanity for Aziraphale to follow Her command, and he seemed to understand that Her coming to the angel to be humanity’s protector was important to him.

Both of them had been fairly sure that Eden’s inhabitants meant humanity, given that Eden had disappeared shortly after both of them had left it.

“But angel, how do you know that I’m not the threat that She alludes to?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a small smile, shaking his head. “My dear, you were never a threat to Eden and its inhabitants, and you never will be. Indeed, I see you as much of their protector as me.”

“I’m just along for the ride, angel. New sights, new flora, change of pace.”

“Of course, dear,” answered Aziraphale, not believing him for a second.

It had really not taken very long after that for Crowley to figure out what the borough of Carr meant, just searching Google for Carrborough and North America. Although both had been nervous about going to the United States in the current political climate--“We’re gonna get shot within 10 minutes of being there, angel.”—both had been relieved to find that the town was actually quite progressive and surrounding by a large urban area.

Nor had it been hard to find a suitable dwelling, given that they had unlimited money and an uncanny ability to make the first offer on any place they chose. Aziraphale had thought the house Crowley had shown him online was lovely and quaint, but too small, to which Crowley had replied, “Not when I’m done with it.”

Beyond any “necessary” changes to the cottage, they had both decided to try to use as little of their powers as possible. After all, either or both could be the threat against humanity She had warned Aziraphale about. So everything was shipped, including the Bentley, and the two of them flew the human way.

Not surprisingly, they both hated airports and flying, and between the two of them they drank the airplane’s stock of liquor and terrified / annoyed / dumbfounded the stewards.

Eventually, after much redesign of the cottage and the addition of a very large greenhouse, Aziraphale and Crowley settled into their new residence, both quietly delighted to be living together, but both equally clueless as to what they should do next.

* * *

Friday evening found Athena walking in her side yard, picking up some trash, when a large grey ancient car came barreling down Lindsay Street. It squealed in the turn onto Merritt.

When she looked up, she saw Agent Cooper in the middle of the street, about to be run down. Athena’s stomach turned over, and she screamed.

The car didn’t slow at all and swerved into the driveway of the crazy house. 

Agent Cooper, still in the middle of the street, blinked. He trotted into her yard.

Afterward, Athena could not quite remember the details. Adrenalin was coursing through her as she ran toward the grey car. A white rage flamed through her, a desire for violence. She was crying and shaking.

Out of the Bentley’s passenger side (well, not really, but that’s what it looked like to the very angry American) stepped a figure in black. He was tall and langly, wearing a black jacket and black shades covering his eyes. He had short, fiery scarlet hair.

But the details of his appearance were lost in Athena’s white adrenaline melt down.

Before she even got to his yard, she was screaming at him at the top of her lungs. “You asshole. You almost killed my cat.”

The figure in black blinked at her and tensed. A strange, scary energy was coursing off him, and as she approached him, the quiet hum she had been feeling intensified. Athena stopped in her tracks. Oh no no, no. Some part of her brain screamed for her to turn around and run the other way.

But she couldn’t stop even to save herself. This creature had almost killed her cat. She stopped several feet from him and said in a clipped, cold tone, “This is a neighborhood. There are animals and children. You cannot drive like that.”

He face broke into a sneer. “Your cat is fine. Calm down.”

Athena’s brain was trying to cope with two competing urges in her brain, the urge for self-preservation versus the urge to punch this asshole in the nose. Nor did she take kindly to being told to calm down like she was a child.

The anger won. “YOU need to slow the fuck down. If you ever hurt any of my cats, I will make sure you regret it.” _Idiot, idiot, this dude is bad news and may not even be human, and you are threatening him._

The man hissed, actually properly hissed, and as he opened his mouth in a snarl, he seemed to have fangs instead of normal teeth. Athena shivered as the temperature around her dropped at least 20 degrees. Her heart was doing a fandango in her chest.

“Are you threatening me?” His voice was low, but the menace in it was clear.

 _Uh, ain’t nobody here but us rabbits._ Athena swallowed. She was utterly terrified, and for a long moment, both just stood there motionless staring at one another.

After several deep breaths, Athena started to regain control of her emotions. Actually, she began to feel a little embarrassed. She really wasn’t the type of person who normally screamed at and threatened people, and while she felt her anger was completely justified, she was ashamed at her loss of control.

“Look, I have lived here for over 10 years. No one has ever driven that fast down this road. I didn’t think it was even possible. I’m sorry to yell at you, but I almost saw you kill my cat. Please slow down and be more careful.”

Silence. _Maybe time to exist stage left and barricade the back door. Damn I gotta get the cats in first._

After another long moment of him simply staring at her, Athena turned around and started walking back to her house. She resisted the urge to break into a run.

“I won’t hurt any of your cats.”

She turned around and opened her mouth but before she could continue—“Or anyone else’s pets. Or children, obviously. I promise.”

She considered this—he had not at all promised to slow down. But the malice in his voice was gone and the dark, scary energy had faded as well. _Maybe I should just call this a win and get back to the brier patch._

She met his eyes, or well, his sunglasses. “Thank you.”

He did not respond, and she felt a wave of annoyance. She turned on her heel and strode back to her house, calling her cats.

When she was inside, she considered the possibilities of what had occurred. She had found that when faced with hugely impossible situations, it was best to take a scientific approach.

Possibility one: this was just some asshole who drove way too fast, and she was going crazy and all the humming and the scary energy was just in her head. And Agent Cooper had been insanely lucky. Really insanely, impossibly lucky.

Possibility two: that creature was some kind of supernatural being, which explained the crazy house and the fact that he drove faster than seemed possible. And explained why Agent Cooper was alive, cause it sure as hell had seemed unavoidable for the car to hit him.

Possibility three—she had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on, but something definitely was.

Option three seemed the safest bet, but her money was on two. It was that same weird humming as when she saw the people in the sky just much milder.

Was this one of the people in the sky? The people with wings?

Athena tried not to think too much about the first possibility. She was much more terrified at the prospect of her own insanity than she was of some supernatural goth asshole.

* * *

Saturday morning found Athena trying for some sense of normalcy. She drank her cold brew in bed and read for a little while, then as the morning passed, she decided to go to the farmer’s market.

Although she could easily walk to the market, she usually bought enough items to make this difficult, so she parked her car on a nearby street. She bought berries, peaches, zucchini, sun golds, and tuberoses .

As she was driving home, she saw him.

The man walking down Shelton Street was balancing a stack of boxes and shopping bags in a way that seemed both impossible and doomed to failure. He looked like he was about to go perform in some Victorian-era play. He was wearing more layers than Athena thought wise in the August heat, and his coat was cream colored, except for, _wow_ , the bow tie, which was a blue plaid. His hair was astonishingly white and seemed to glow somehow.

He was the most adorable, impossible creature Athena had ever laid eyes on, and it did not even occur to her to do anything else than stop the car and offer him a ride. She rolled down the window, and the person looked over at her. “Hi, do you need a ride? You seem to be a little overloaded there.”

But there it was, the little hum again, just slightly different than the buzz she had felt the night before. Uh oh.

The man looked at her with some relief. He had beautiful eyes that seemed to change color at a moment’s notice. “Oh, that would be so wonderful, if it’s not too much trouble. I do seem to have bit off more than I can chew.” His accent was British, and a posh London one at that.

Any anxiety she had felt disappeared in a warm wave of comfort and kindness that seemed to emanate from the man. “No problem at all. I have definitely had this happen to me too, getting a little carried away at the farmer’s market.” She got out of the car and opened the hatch. She had been sad when the old car had died, but she really did feel a swell of pride for her new sporty Fit. _My midlife crisis sexy subcompact._

“Hang on, I’ll put the back seats down, and there will be tons more space.” 

There was just enough, and all she had was one bag.

The adorably plump man, holding an immense bouquet, headed to the driver’s side, then seemed to remember that U.S. cars were different than British and walked to the other side. As he did so, Athena’s mind whirled with questions.

_I still feel the humming—is this guy one of the people in the sky too? He seems gay. Is he gay? Do supernatural people even have sexual or gender identities?_

Athena at that moment did have a momentary realization that the creature she had spoken with last night also had a accent _and_ had a British car. _Hmmm. Weird. Do all supernatural beings have British accents? Is the Doctor about to show up?.... Hope so._

She realized the man was speaking to her. “Oh where are my manners? My name is Azira Fell. I just moved here last week.”

“Welcome to Carrboro, Azira. My name is Athena.” She shook his hand. It was soft and warm, yet with a surprisingly firm grip. They both got in the car. “So where am I taking you?”

“Oh, well, I think you should head that direction.” He pointed to the right, vaguely.

“What’s your address?”

A pause. “Ha I have to confess, I don’t really know. I just moved here, and I seemed to have forgotten it.” (NOTE: Actually, Aziraphale had never learned it. He had forgotten this was something he needed to know, probably because he had been previously living in the same place for a few centuries). “I am ever so sorry, you can just let me out, and I am sure I will find the way.”

She looked at the anachronistic being in her passenger side. She still heard the hum thrumming through her brain, and part of her doubted this creature was human. But he seemed an absolute sweetheart, and she could not imagine not helping him.

“Oh, I bet we can figure it out. It’s a small town. Do you remember anything about where you live, like the street name, or anything else?”

“It was the name of a kind of tree.”

“Can I assume you did not walk that far to the Farmer’s Market?”

“Oh, no. I think we must be rather close. It was definitely a fairly short walk.”

“Oak. Pine. Elm. Unfortunately, there are two different Oaks nearby.”

The being in creamy white frowned, considering. “I think it’s Oak, but why do you say there are two Oaks? “

“There’s Oak Street and Oak Avenue. Just to be confusing for anyone who hasn’t lived her for a decade. But from the direction you pointed and the distance, I am going to go with Oak Ave.” Athena put the car in gear and started driving again. She would have bet the farm that she knew exactly which house on Oak to take the fluffy-haired cherub of a man.

“I’m going to start driving from one end of Oak to the other, and if we don’t see your house, we’ll try the other Oak.”

Aziraphale hummed happily to himself as they drove. “You know, I never realized there could be so many flavors of goat cheese! I tried several of them, and they were scrumptious!”

“I like the fruity ones myself, or really just plain, cause I usually put it in a salad.”

Athena would have won that bet, had it existed, for when she had driven down most of Oak, almost to the corner of Merritt, Azira exclaimed, “Oh it’s right here.”

Of course, it was crazy house. Of course. She decided to just pretend everything was FINE, and turned the corner and parked on the street. The gray old car was parked in the drive, and she was fervently hoping she wouldn’t see the scary asshole dude. How was it this kind being lived with that creature?

“Oh, thank you so much for getting me home. It is so wonderful to meet a kind person as yourself.”

At that moment, scary asshole dude walked out the back door. Athena swallowed. He froze when he saw her. Aziraphale, oblivious to the sudden tension, called out to him, “Crowley, this woman was ever so nice and gave me a ride from the market. Please help me unload her car so she can be on her way.”

_What the actual fuck??! (just noting that this is both Athena and Crowley’s internal response, in case you were wondering)_

Crowley turned to Az. “Angel, why didn’t you just call me, and I could have picked you up?”

“Oh, well… I seem to have left the telephone at home. So silly of me.” Crowley snorted in amusement.

Athena was speechless. _Angel? That dude called Azira angel. Are they . . .?_

Crowley continued to ignore her which was absolutely just fine with her. She opened the hatch. He walked over and began taking out bags and packages.

When he grabbed her grocery bag, she was forced to speak to him. “Um, that one’s mine,” she said, a tad meekly.

He returned it to the hatch without looking at her. Aziraphale seemed to finally catch on that something was amiss. He looked from demon to human.

Crowley picked up the rest of the packages from the back of the Fit and without another word went inside. Aziraphale looked over at Athena, somewhat uncertainly. “Thank you again, for your help.”

Athena sighed. “Azira, it was lovely to meet you. Oddly, we happen to be neighbors. I live over there,” she pointed back to her house. “Have a lovely rest of your day.” _Why are you with this asshole, and I’m sorry we won’t ever be friends because I am sure your partner has some choice words for me, as I have for him._

She grabbed her bag out of the car and walked to her house.

* * *

Aziraphale walked into the kitchen. Crowley had already miracled the food into the fridge and the larder, and the flowers into a large blue vase.

“Crowley,” he sighed, “what happened between you and that young lady? She seemed to both fear and dislike you, and you obviously recognized her.”

“Aziraphale, that awful woman had the absolute gall to demand that I slow down. I mean, in my own neighborhood!”

“Crowley….”

“She yelled at me, Angel!”

“Crowley….”

“She is absolute deranged, Aziraphale! A total nutter!”

“CROWLEY! What happened? Did you almost hit her?”

Crowley made a sound of outraged disgust. “Of course not!”

“I have no doubt that you were driving much too fast to be safe in a residential area, and she was right to be concerned.”

“She didn’t have to scream at me.” Crowley deliberately omitting the obvious reason for her screaming, that she had seen him almost hit her cat. [note: To put it from Crowley’s perspective, he had deliberately not hit her cat even though it was in the middle of the road where it had no business being.]

“She seems like a delightful young lady. She had no reason but simple kindness to stop and offer me that ride just now, and here you have already gone and made things awkward with our next-door neighbor.”

“Not like we are going to be fraternizing with any of the humans anyway,” Crowley grumbled. He had to admit, just to himself of course, that his dislike of cat lady (as he had taken to calling her in his head) had been somewhat subdued by the fact she had helped Aziraphale. _Stupid goody two shoes, the both of them._

Aziraphale got out the pound cake and strawberries. He miracled the strawberries sliced over the cake, and then added some whipped cream out of the ether for good measure. “Perhaps I should give her a slice of cake, to make amends and as a show of my gratitude.” Crowley just grunted.

* * *

Athena was putting food away and thinking about what to have for lunch. She would rather mull over these latest developments on a full stomach, thank you very much. Then someone knocked on her front door. She peeked through the shades to make sure it wasn’t a Mormon or someone wanted her to sign a petition.

There stood Azira with a covered plate. She opened the door.

“Oh hello, I don’t want to intrude, but I just wanted to give you this as a token of my gratitude.”

“Oh that’s so kind of you. She opened the cover. “Oh, that looks amazing, thank you!”

Aziraphale hesitated. “Also, I hear that my friend was driving much too fast on our little streets. I have asked him to try to slow down, and I apologize if he frightened you.”

“Azira, you do not need to apologize to me for something you partner, um I mean, friend has done.” Athena sighed. “And to be honest, yes, he was going too fast, but I did lose my cool and I feel bad about yelling at him the way I did. I don’t normally scream at people, but he did almost hit Agent Cooper.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he looked a little startled. “And this Agent Cooper is a friend of yours?”

She laughed. “Well, yes, but he’s also my cat.”

Aziraphale nodded, and she saw a look of understanding on his face. “Right.” His lips tightened. “Well, I can assure you that nothing of that sort will happen again.

Something in his manner made Athena realize that someone, a specific someone, was in deep shit. _Oh, so you didn’t mention that little part of our interaction, did you._ A feeling of malevolent glee washed over her, one that would have impressed Crowley, truth to tell. She tried to keep her face neutral.

“Hey, so why did you come to my front door? The back door is closer to your house.”

“Oh, I did not want to be presumptuous, my dear.”

She understood then that he was showing her respect, however formal and old fashioned it was. Or maybe that was a British thing? “Azira,” she said in her friendliest tone. “You are always welcome at both my doors. Thanks again for the cake, and have a lovely day.”

“You do the same, my dear. Goodbye for now.”

Aziraphale walked back into their house. “Crowley!” The angel’s tone made clear his displeasure.

Crowley sighed. Of course that stupid cat girl had ratted him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story features Agent Cooper, one of my kitties. He has a cancerous tumor, which is one reason I cannot bear to even look at this chapter right now. Please keep him in your thoughts.


	5. Chapter Four: Don't Touch This! (Eastern Wall version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael visits the Eastern Wall of Eden and Heaven's Hall of Souls. They find things that alarm them in both, and decide to go find the one being in the universe that most other beings are trying to avoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, an apology--I have been slack. Actually, I've been depressed and focusing on my little sick kitty.
> 
> This one's entirely from Michael's POV. It's fairly short, but you find out a lot of interesting info.

Uriel had just left Michael’s office with her report and with orders to continue to monitor the Earth for more detailed information. After several months of monitoring the Earth,1 and humans in particular Uriel had found no sign of new demonic activity on Earth and no sign that the humans were aware that their original home had returned from, well, wherever She had sent it.

However, Uriel did have two very important nuggets of information that were currently giving Michael an internal conniption fit—first, that the traitor was no longer in London. Uriel had consulted the Office of Angelic Records to track Aziraphale’s miracles, and found, unsurprisingly, a great number of frivolous ones, all manifesting somewhere in the Northern Americas.

Uriel could not sense demonic miracles or other occult actions, but she could sense generally where demonic energy was emanating on the Earth. The only energy she could find was not in London, but again, the Northern Americas. It seemed extremely likely that the two traitors were together.

 _What are those two up to? Could they know about Eden? And if so, how?_ It did not escape Michael’s attention that those two had been in Eden during Eve’s Sin, Crowley of course as the instigator, Aziraphale doing a piss poor job guarding Eden. _Were they in on it from the beginning—was Aziraphale even then_ conspiring _with the demon?_

The other, possibly related, matter that was causing Michael a great deal of stress was the matter of the Eastern Gate. They had sent the sentry angel to guard it, the angel extremely excited to be given this new responsibility. But the excitement gave way quickly to frustration when the sentry discovered he could literally not stand (or sit or anything else) on the Eastern Wall of Eden. He could fly over it (though he knew well enough to obey Gabriel’s commands about not actually entering Eden), but if he tried to land on the Wall, he found himself pushed back to heaven, often landing unceremoniously on his bum. He had tried numerous times, all to no avail, before he had reported this to Michael.

Michael had considered yelling at the sentry, but ultimately decided to see for themselves. They accompanied the sentry to the Eastern Wall of Heaven, and then watched as the sentry tried to fly to Eden’s Eastern Wall. He easily landed on the Western and Northern Walls, where the respective Guardians stood keeping watch, but when he tried to land on the Eastern, he suddenly found himself on the far side of the wall, outside of Eden and Heaven. This time he landed with a well-executed roll. Once he caught his breath, he flew back to Michael’s side.

“Let me try,” said Michael. They flew over Eden and hovered above its Eastern Wall, Slowly, slowly, they descended, trying for as slow and gentle landing as possible. However, when Michael was about six feet above the Wall, something shoved them away, rather forcefully. Fortunately for Michael’s dignity, they recovered and managed to fly back up.2

Michael had ordered the sentry back to their office, where they had immediately swiped the other angel’s memories of Eden before sending him to the Taskmaster to be given a new assignment.

So after hearing Uriel’s report, Michael was beside themselves, internally cursing Aziraphale even though they could not see how he possibly could be responsible for whatever was happening with the Eastern Wall.

Even more irritating to Michael was the fact that they would have to report to Gabriel that basically they had no idea what has going on.

 _So now what?_ Michael thought about all they knew about Eden, which wasn’t much. There had been a bunch of plants and happy animals and the Tree and the two humans until everything had gone pear-shaped. And the Guardians of the Gates.3 And the Serpent.

Michael considered the two humans. Surely, both had ended up in Hell for dooming humanity to suffering and hardship. What if they had become demons? Maybe they were responsible for all of this? Though that still begged the question as to Why.

_I need more information about those two. Damn Gabriel for not allowing me to check my backchannels._

But there was one angel, Michael knew, who could confirm that Adam and Eve were in Hell. The Archangel Remiel, whose scales measured the weight of each human soul and gave the final judgement as to whether the soul went to Heaven or Hell. She would know what happened to them.

Michael left their office to find Remiel. They would avoid Gabriel until they had some useful info.

* * *

“Are you kidding me?” Remiel scoffed. “Do you really think I can remember what happened to each and every human soul that has ever lived and died?”

“These souls were important.”

“Every soul is important.”

“But these were the first souls, Adam and Eve. I need to know where they ended up.”

“Oh, them. They may have been the first souls to live, but they were not the first ones to die you know.”4 Remiel squinted for a moment. “I am pretty sure Adam is in Heaven, but I don’t remember what happened to Eve. But of course we keep records of these things.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief and approval—Thank God for paperwork! “Wonderful. So look them up and tell me what you find.”

Remiel laughed, rather sarcastically. “No, Michael, YOU will look them up. I am busy.”

“Remiel, I demand your assistance in this matter.”

Remiel glared at Michael. “Every second now, two humans die and come before me. My work never ends.5 Look it up yourself. I’ll show you where the records are kept.” 

Michael had no choice but to agree and be led into the Hall of Souls, as the large archive was called. Remiel led them down a narrow hallway, and then another and another, deeper and deeper into the building until at last Remiel opened a huge wooden door and walked into an immense room full of books, a room that even being in Heaven managed to smell dusty and moldy and stale.

Remiel pointed to a high shelf. “Both souls should be listed in that first book on the left. That’s the oldest record of souls in the archive.” Then without further adieu, she turned and left Michael alone.

Michael fought the urge to curse under their breath as they found a step ladder and climbed up to retrieve the first book on the top shelf. The room was poorly lit, so they miracled some candles on a nearby table, sat down, and began their search.

* * *

Hours, or maybe even days later, Michael was finished. They had found Adam’s name fairly quickly and was astonished to discover he had been allowed into Heaven. _It is not up to me to question Her Divine Plan, but really?!_

Eve’s name, however, was absent from the rolls. Michael, not quite sure how long humans actually lived, had even searched the second book. Eve’s name never appeared. The longer Michael searched, the more their mood soured. Finally, they left the Archives in frustration and found Remiel with her scales. When she saw Michael, she gave the scales to a nearby assistant and walked up to them.

“Success, I assume?”

“No. I found Adam, but not Eve. I looked in the second book, too. Please do not tell me I need to search the entire archive!”

Remiel stared at him a moment, obviously very surprised. Michael was utterly meticulous and accurate—it did not even occur to her that they had somehow missed the name.

“She would have to be listed in that first book given that she was the first or second soul in existence. There’s no way she could have lived long enough for her soul’s destination to be listed later than that.”

Michael, despite their black mood, suddenly felt gratitude toward Remiel for not doubting the accuracy of their findings. Gabriel most definitely would have done so and loudly. “So now what?”

Remiel looked at Michael intently. “There is only one possibility I can think of. I encounter their souls right after their death—I weigh their lives in my scales and send them on their way. I do not know details about their lives or their deaths. However, some of the souls that come before me seem different than the others, changed somehow. Older. I don’t mean older by a few years, I mean quite older.”

“So you’re saying some humans live far longer than others?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Methusela aside, humans just do not live very long. No, the age I sense from them, it’s not the same thing that comes from living a long life by human standards. It’s different.”

She sighed, trying to find the right words. “Souls do not age. They are eternal. Yet some souls… they still seem older than others. I don’t know how to describe it any other way.” Her face looked troubled for a moment. Michael was silent, for as impatient as they were to get to the bottom of all of this nonsense, still they were strangely fascinated. They had never thought about all of the souls constantly flowing to Above and Below.

“Michael, I do not have the answer you seek, but someone else may. They who see the souls at their deaths and lead them beyond.”

“Azrael.”

“Yes.”

“How do I contact them?”

“You do not. You must find them. It means going to Earth. Find a place where there are many humans dying at once—I suspect you are sure to find Azrael there.”

Michael had no desire to go to Earth (not to mention the trouble they’d be in with Gabriel), and even less desire to have a chat with Death, immortal though they be. But Michael’s curiosity was now piqued, and they could not resist playing detective, even if they had no idea what a detective was.

“Thank you, Remiel, for your help and your advice. Please do not share our meeting with anyone.” Anyone being, obviously, chiefly Gabriel.

Remiel smiled genuinely for the first time. “You are quite welcome. And mums the word.”

1\. Given that heaven does not keep track of time the way that humans do, “several months” is just vague enough to probably be somewhat accurate. I mean, we all know the author is making this up as she goes along.↩

2\. The force felt like two similarly charged magnets, repulsing one another, not that Michael had any idea what a magnet was.↩

3\. Michael had already spoken to the three remaining Guardians and found them completely unhelpful. It had been such a very long time ago, and in any case, they were busy guarding Eden from enemies without, and not paying much attention to what was actually happening inside the Gates. In fact, none of the three had had the slightest bit of interest or curiosity about the creatures they were supposed to be guarding. Unsurprisingly, both Aziraphale and Crowley remembered Eden quite well and were both utterly fascinated by the humans and everything else. Both remembered the Garden rather fondly, in large part because that is where they had met the other. However, both still had some pangs of guilt about the whole affair. Crowley still believed he had done the right thing by tempting Eve because he could not see what was wrong with the humans knowing Good and Evil. However, he still felt a little bad about the humans getting kicked out of Eden. As for Aziraphale, he felt guilty about the flaming sword because although he still believed it had been the right thing to do to give it to the humans, he still felt vaguely guilty about going against heaven and God’s commands, and of course, he felt very, very contrite about lying to Her.↩

4\. That dubious honor goes to poor Abel.↩

5\. This is not quite true, as Remiel did have assistants who often took over for her when she needed a break. But, certainly, Remiel was by far the hardest working angel in Heaven, so her point was still valid. Also, Remiel never paid much attention to angelic hierarchies and rarely interacted with the other archangels, basically taking an FU attitude about anything other than her task.↩

And Michael went to figure out where best to find Azrael. It couldn’t be that hard, humans were always dying after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can such a short chapter have so many darn footnotes? 
> 
> Next chapter, back to Carrboro. Almost the whole thing are our fave boys doing what they do best: bickering and drinking (and pining).


	6. Chapter Five: Musings about Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of speculating about the neighbor(s), some drinking, and Aziraphale shows a little skin!

In the weeks following Athena’s disastrous “meeting” with Crowley and her perfectly charming introduction to Azira, she tried to figure out just what was happening to her and whether her two new very odd neighbors were human or something more. Her interactions with the two had brought back memories of that Day she tried to forget, peeling away a scab from something that had barely begun to heal over. It occurred to her that her fear that she was going insane might actually drive her over that edge.

And she couldn’t talk to anyone about it. She needed to. But she couldn’t.

Her mind went back to that strange day over a year ago. The People in the sky with wings. They had been poised for battle at the world’s end. Despite her atheism, she had not been able to help but see them as something out of Renaissance painting of the Apocalypse. Angels and devils.

What was odd was how her two neighbors seemed to fit characteristics of each. Azira was, well, angelic, he seemed almost to glow and gave off a soothing, peaceful energy. Crowley, on the other hand, looked, well, maybe more goth than demonic, but he definitely gave off a scary, dark energy. And those teeth that had looked like fangs.

But that didn’t make sense. They should have been enemies then, not living together as friends.

Or whatever they were.

Of course, maybe they were just two weirdos who got along in that opposites attract kind of way, and she was just making everything up.

But if so, how could the house have been renovated so quickly and that greenhouse installed? That just didn’t make any sense.

Her curiosity was piqued, and she decided that she try to get to know them better, befriend them (well, Azira at least), and be watchful. Look for other odd happenings.

When she was a little kid, she had wanted to be a private detective. Sleuthing sounded fun, to be honest, and she had been a bit bored lately. She would not spy on them or stalk them. That sounded too creepy, and Athena put so much stock in her own privacy that she couldn’t find it in her to intrude on someone else’s. But she could maybe snoop around a little bit, take the occasional walk around the block, engage Azira in conversation.

Hell, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

* * *

Currently, the two beings who were the subject of Athena’s musings were trying unsuccessfully to figure out why they had been sent to this little backwater town. Oh, it was pleasant enough—people were strangely friendly and a little oddball and tolerant of one another, there were some nice little local shops and restaurants and bars, and it was lush with trees and flowers. But it was certainly not London, and both Crowley and Aziraphale were homesick for city life and the bookstore and St. James’ Park, and their other favorite haunts. And they were still trying to interpret everyone's accents.

“Now what?” Crowley asked out of the blue one day. He had been checking Twitter on his phone.1

Aziraphale did not look up from his book, which had the intended effect on the demon, pure annoyance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“What do we do now? How do we wrap up this ridiculous little mission and get back home in time for a nightcap? I’m bored.” Crowley tried to not sound whingy, but did not completely succeed.

“You would be bored even if we were in London. Anyway, I expect we are awaiting another sign. We haven’t been here but a month or so. Why don’t you go for a walk or something?”

“Trying to get rid of me, Angel?” Crowley was definitely trying to work himself into one of his snits.

Well, that would not do. Aziraphale put down the book and looked over at his demon (not that he would ever put it that way to Crowley). “My dear, certainly not, but you seem restless. I just thought it might help. And you seem to like being out in this tropical climate.”

Crowley snorted, a little less grumpy now that he had his angel’s undivided attention (not that he would ever phrase it that way to Aziraphale). “Angel, this is fairly north of the tropics, you know. Maybe you would be more comfortable if you actually dressed for the summer heat.”

“It’s not summer, it’s September.”

“We’re still a week away from the fall equinox, so yes, it is summer.”

“Climatologists consider fall to begin on September one, I’ll have you know,” Aziraphale responded primly.

Crowley considered this. He looked at his phone. “Angel, it’s 34 degrees. And the heat index is even higher. We’re supposed to break the record high today. The least you could do is take off your bloody waistcoat.” He had already managed to tempt Aziraphale into not wearing the jacket, at least when they were outside. 2

Although Crowley would be damned if he ever wore shorts,3 he had ditched the boots, jacket and scarf. He now wore his customary tight-as-fuck jeans with v-neck black t-shirt and black converses. 

“Well, I suppose it is acceptable to dress down when one is in the colonies.” Aziraphale stood up and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Crowley sputtered, his mind spinning between “colonies” and Aziraphale’s shapely, somewhat plump fingers as they went from button to button.

“Aziraphale, if you refer to the United States as ‘the colonies,’ to the locals, we are going to be shot. Discorporated on the spot. Plus, you know, it’s been nearly 225 years since, well, they declared their Independence.”

“And look how well that’s going for them.”

“Not sure they would be in much better shape if they were still part of Great Britain, with the emphasis not on the ‘Great’. And anyway, do you really want a return of the bloody British Empire?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I hope for a day that there are no empires, as you well know. Let us hope the people in both nations figure out how to grow in ways that are healthy for all of their citizens as well as the other peoples of the earth.”4

“Never happened before, Angel. I think we both know things are spiraling downward right now.”

“But they eventually make their way back up—it seems to be a cycle with humans.”

“Not sure about this time, to be honest. Seems like they are determined to commit their own Apocalypse, without any need for any pesky Antichrists or angels or demons.”

Aziraphale sighed again. The conversation had taken a maudlin turn. It was something they didn’t talk outloud about very much, their fear that humans were on some kind of global tipping point. 

Crowley also realized the conversation turn. _Not much we can fucking do about it._ “Angel, let’s go to a pub. I’ll drive if you wish.” Crowley figured it was 50/50—Aziraphale hated the heat, Aziraphale was still to this day terrified of Crowley’s driving, and it was a short walk.

“I think I would prefer to walk, now that I am dressed more comfortably for the weather.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and gave him a look of affection. Crowley rarely wore his sunglasses in their home, for which Aziraphale was quite, quite happy. He had begun to realize how much Crowley hid behind them, not just the color and shape of his eyes, and Aziraphale was immensely honored (and enamored) that Crowley trusted him this much.

They had come a long way since the Apocawasn’t. But not as far as Aziraphale wanted them to go.

Not as far as Crowley wanted them to go, either, actually.

“Angel, you are still dressed like someone’s Victorian uncle. At least roll up your sleeves. And why don’t you take off your vest?” He had never seen Aziraphale’s vest, but he would bet a good scotch that the angel wore one.

Aziraphale looked ridiculously flabbergasted at the idea: “But then I will get sweat on my shirt.”

“Aziraphale, how often do you miracle clean your shirt?”

“Well, every day of course.”

“Well then, you don’t need a vest. An vest is so you can wear a shirt more than once without cleaning it.” He tried and failed to keep a note of exasperation out of his voice.

Aziraphale considered this. “Well, I guess I would be more comfortable.”

And then Aziraphale did something so wild and unexpected that Crowley thought he was going to implode from shock (and other things). Aziraphale actually began to unbutton his shirt, RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF CROWLEY! Was he actually going to take if off? And the VEST?!

Maybe all this talk of undressing was making Aziraphale bold. Maybe he just finally felt comfortable enough in Crowley’s presence where he didn’t feel mortified. Maybe “too fast” had become “too slow” and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Crowley was trying to not blatantly ogle the angel and wishing desperately for his shades. There were lovely white fluffs of hair peeping out of the top of the vest, and Crowley had a momentary fantasy of tracing them down the angel’s chest.

But once Aziraphale had taken off his shirt, his courage failed him. He decided on a half retreat and turned around to take off the vest and redon his shirt.

Crowley was a little disappointed, a little relieved. But still, seeing the angel’s back for that fleeting moment was, well, it was one of those moments, to be put aside and remembered on a lousy day.

Aziraphale buttoned up his shirt, but not quite all the way, rolled up his sleeves, and turned around. “Shall we be off?”

Crowley gulped. “Yeah, angel. Sure.”

* * *

Several hours after they had walked to the pub (well, really a bar), they came back home and settled into scotch and a companionable silence.

Aziraphale thought back to Crowley’s earlier question. Now what indeed? He had to confess he had no idea what their next step should be.

He thought back to right before they had left London. Crowley had called Adam to let him know they were leaving London for a while.

They had thought it best to keep in touch with the boy, just to make sure that Heaven and Hell gave him no more trouble (not that they had any idea what they would do if they did). Adam remembered everything from that fateful Day, and he seemed to enjoy talking to Crowley and Aziraphale, who he seemed to think of as his new god parents. Crowley grew very fond of him, even if he’d never admit it outloud.

Adam didn’t ask any questions when Crowley told him that he and the angel were visiting the States. That was odd in itself. But as they were saying their goodbyes, Adam, his voice ringing with mischief, added, “Tell her hello for me!” and hung up.

Crowley had stood for a moment staring at his mobile until Aziraphale had asked what was wrong. And Crowley had told him.

Now Aziraphale wondered for the umpteenth time who Adam (and She) had meant. He suddenly realized he had been staring into space for who knows how long and that Crowley was staring at him eyebrows arched.

“Earth to angel.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, I was thinking about Adam’s little riddle to you. You are sure you didn’t mention our reason for coming here?”

Crowley tried to keep his eyes from rolling. They had discussed this ad nauseam, but at the same time, he understood the angel’s need to keep returning to it. They had so little to go on as to why there were here.

“I’m sure, angel. And, as I’ve said before, I sure hope Adam isn’t talking about Her,” he emphasized his meaning with a point upward.

They had of course thought of Eve as a possible candidate for the mystery female, given both of their dreams. But both of them rejected this idea fairly quickly. They both were aware that some humans reincarnated—in the early days especially, they had occasionally run into a soul they had known in a previous lifetime—but both rejected outright that Eve could still be on the planet after all this time. So she was either in Heaven or Hell (both fervently hoped for the latter, but neither believed She was ever particularly fair about such things). And Souls in Heaven or Hell could not be moved around from one reality to another. A soul in Heaven stayed in Heaven, a soul in Hell, in Hell, and no angel or demon, not even Lucifer himself, could change that. It was beyond all of their powers.

Of course, it was not beyond Her power. But despite their dreams, they did not believe she would interfere so directly in this sphere. And what? Bring Eve back so that Aziraphale had to save her? That made no sense.

Crowley though Her capable of such manipulation, actually, but even he had to admit it didn’t make any sense.

So if not Eve, who was she?

Aziraphale broke the silence. “Do you think it could be our neighbor?”

“Wot, you mean crazy cat girl? What about her?”

“Do you think Athena could be the person that She and Adam were talking about?”

Crowley looked over at him, his face scrunched up to express his disbelief. “She’s just some middle-aged annoying woman with too many cats and too much time on her hands. Besides, we don’t know if She and Adam were even talking about the same person.”

That last bit had been something they had been bickering about, probably just for something to bicker about more than either had a definitive opinion on the subject. So Aziraphale ignored it.

“Maybe so. But it is odd that she seemed to notice our . . . improvements to the cottage and actually commented on them to me.” Most humans tended to ignore such things—it took the tiniest of miracles to make them not question such glaring changes.

Crowley paused, considering this. It was strange, admittedly. “Yeah, ok, I gotta say, when she confronted me about the thing”—he waved his hands in the air vaguely—“she didn’t back off like most humans would when I became a bit spoo-ky.” He said the last word deliberately, trying to get Aziraphale to focus on that bit rather than what he and Athena had been arguing about. “

Aziraphale was quite aware of what Crowley was doing, but he was more interested in continuing their ponderings about their new neighbor.

“Even so, she’s obviously human. Though I guess that’s who we are supposed to be protecting.”

Crowley decided to ignore the “we,” but he wasn’t going to use that same pronoun. “Not sure that makes her the center of your investigation / rescue. Sounds a bit like we’re just grasping at straws.”

Aziraphale nodded ruefully. “A bit. Yet, she’s our only lead, so to speak.”

“So what, we just freeze her up and do a little light interrogation?” Crowley said with a smirk. “And then ‘have a lovely dream of whatever you like best.’”

“Crowley!”

“What?”

“You know I prefer to avoid that kind of manipulation. We’ve done enough of that throughout the ages.”

“Fine, fine.” Crowley raised his hands dramatically.

“Besides, I doubt she knows anything anyway.”

“No, probably not. So basically, your plan is to spy on our weird neighbor and make sure she isn’t part of this mysterious scheme that we are supposed to stop?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but it died on his lips. He sighed again. “Yes, I suppose.”

Crowley considered this. “Well, it’s not like we have any better leads. Although when I have imagined playing James Bond, it always seemed a bit more adventuresome.”

Aziraphale smiled at him affectionately. “You are still more dashing a spy, my dear, than he could ever be.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned beet red, and he wouldn’t meet Aziraphale’s gaze. But his small, hesitant smile made Aziraphale promise to himself that he would do everything he could to make that smile return again and again.

They stopped talking about the uncertain future, and spent the rest of the night in either companionable silence or their normal gleeful drunken banter.

1\. It was always good for some temptations accomplished, but even he had stopped reading the comments.↩

2\. This wasn’t much of a temptation accomplished, considering Aziraphale found he perspired an embarrassing amount in this climate, so much that was using his handkerchief as more of a sweat rag. He truly did not want to perform too many frivolous miracles, but he would be damned if he would allow sweat stains in his favorite outfit.↩

3\. To be honest, Crowley was a tad uncomfortable with his own appearance, mainly his super skinny legs, so he found the thought of wearing shorts mortifying.↩

4\. The author is not holding her breath.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get back on a normal posting schedule. Hope everyone is happy and healthy. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter Six: Some Chats with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael visits Earth and learns some startling news. Azrael remembers his interactions with Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death is in the House! Death is in the House!
> 
> I love me some Discworld Death.

Michael entered the entrance to the hospital in some confusion. They had used the escalator to get to Earth and had immediately gotten both very lost and very annoyed at not being able to find a hospital instantly. Finally, through a series of miracles and a bit of good luck, they had managed both to find a hospital and their ultimate destination, the morgue. _Any morgue should do. I mean there can’t be for than a handful of hospitals and morgues on this planet. If I just wait long enough…_

Fortunately, “long enough” meant “no time at all” because as soon as the elevator doors opened, Michael saw Azrael standing just to the side of the entrance. The dark cowl covering the seemingly frail bones, its eye sockets empty yet still filled with points of a brilliant blue light. Azrael, the Angel of Death. Azrael, who never came to Heaven, ever.

I’VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU.

“Greetings, Azrael. I hope all is well with you.” It was always best to be quite polite to Azrael even if you were an Archangel.

WHY DID YOU COME LOOKING FOR ME HERE?

“I beg your pardon?”

WHY A MORGUE? HUMANS DON’T DIE IN MORGUES, AT LEAST NOWADAYS. THIS IS JUST WHERE THEY STORE THE SHELL THAT IS LEFT AFTER MY VISIT.

“Ah.” Michael found themselves at a loss for words. Was Michael imagining it, or was there a hint of scorn in Azrael’s voice?

I KNOW WHY YOU HAVE COME. YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR EVE. WHY, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, HAVE YOU COME LOOKING FOR THEM?

“Oh, well, you know bureaucracy—I’m afraid it just recently came to our attention that Eve’s soul is well, missing. It’s not on the rolls of Heaven or Hell. And Remiel suggested that you might know, that there might be a third, um, place, where she could be.”

SOME HUMANS TURN THE WHEEL.

“Beg pardon?” _Lord does Azrael love his riddles. Such a drama queen!_

SOME HUMANS TURN THE WHEEL. THEY GO BACK.

Michael blinked, considering this. Back to where, exactly? Then, suddenly, it occurred to them. “You mean, they go back to Earth?”

YES.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

Death stood silent, and despite the lack of change in its demeanor, it still managed to give a look that suggested that there was a LOT that Michael did not know.

“Well, then, is Eve on the Earth now?”

I DO NOT KNOW WHERE AN INDIVIDUAL SOUL GOES ONCE IT LEAVES HERE. I ONLY KNOW THAT SOME CHOOSE TO TURN THE WHEEL RATHER THAN FACE THEIR JUDGEMENT.

Well, given that Eve was not in Heaven or Hell, Michael was fairly certain that Eve had to be back on Earth. But that meant that Eve had been on Earth for nearly its entire existence. Michael could not fathom why any soul would choose to come back here. They had not been here but a few hours and was already sick to death of the place.

“Thank you, Azrael. That information was most helpful.”

I AM NOT FINISHED YET.

_Oh._

I KNOW ABOUT EDEN. Azrael approached Michael, and it took all of their bravery to not step back.

HERE ME ON THIS—TIME IS MY DOMINION. IT IS A FUNDAMENTAL PART OF THE GREAT PLAN, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE TO ENDANGER IT. EDEN COULD DESTROY THE VERY FABRIC OF TIME. LEAVE IT BE. GUARD IT WELL.

Was Azrael threatening them? Threatening Heaven itself? “How is Eden a danger to time, Azrael?”

Azrael stared at them for a moment, with that gaze that could never be less than piercing, and in a swirl of black mist, disappeared.

_Oh bollocks. More dramatics. Couldn’t simply give me a bloody straight answer. How does Azrael know about Eden though?_

Michael inwardly shrugged. _How did Azrael seem to know anything and everything?_

Michael sighed and wondered how long it would take them to get back to Heaven, and how many more miracles they would have to use to do so. _Oh bugger this. I’m done with this place._ Michael snapped their fingers and appeared before the up elevator.

Gabriel would be very angry. But what else was new? And at least Michael had some working information to hand over.

Michael rode the escalator back up to Heaven, relieved to be leaving the damp, dreary Earth.

* * *

Azrael muses, as Binky his gray (and very much alive) coarser streaks through the stratosphere. (In truth, a thousand Binkys and a thousand Deaths gallop through the skies seeking out fading souls, all the same Binky and the same Death at once—it’s hard to explain to a layperson really). Azrael is not sure whether it was wise to tell Michael about Eden. He is counting on Heaven’s adherence to the Great Plan to keep them from doing something as insane as to seek willfully to destroy Time in order to allow them finally to have their Armageddon. But he is worried.

Azrael has nothing against the End of the World if it’s done in the correct way. Endings are endings for him, and if the End of all creation means the End of Death, himself, well, that is just another ending. But it is one thing for a life to end, for its hourglass to spend its last few grains of sand, it is quite another to wipe the living soul’s very existence from the scape of time and space itself, for the hourglass itself to suddenly be gone. That is a travesty to Death’s very purpose. He does not even know what would happen to the souls who have already passed, the souls in Heaven and Hell. Would they just cease to exist too?

Eden is a Big Red Button that will reset Time. And that is counter to Azrael’s very being, himself a creature of the cycle, the inevitability of Time.

It is all very worrisome.

He thinks about Eve suddenly. He had not lied, exactly, when he told Michael he did not know where the humans went after they passed. But he did know if they returned to Earth, because their new hourglass would appear in his collection. In his dwelling, in another plane of existence, Death had an immense library with a book and an hourglass for every human life. The hourglasses were how he knew when it was time for him to appear to them, when their sand had run out.

But even if this weren’t the case, even if he hadn’t known that Eve was on Earth, he would have bet his life (HA HA HA) that Eve was on Earth. That’s where she always was. When she wasn’t dead.

* * *

Eve had been at least polite, right from the start, which was more than he got with many souls. She was not Death’s first soul to visit (that was her son, of course), but she was one of the first. And because Death at that point was itself and himself fairly new, she did not even understand enough to be frightened of him.

“Oh, Hello.” She said to him, her soul rising from her aged body. “I suddenly feel so much better—I couldn’t even stand yesterday.”

Azrael gestured at her body, lying in a nest of furs below her. Several humans knelt around her body and wept.

“Oh. Oh. That’s . . . weird. Is this a dream?”

NO.

She looked him over then. “What are you? I’ve seen angels, and at least one demon, and my children, and a great number of animals roaming the world, but I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

Death was used to this reaction by now—the few humans that had died had not seen other humans decayed corpses. [It would take a few generations of living and dying for the image of a human skeleton to sear itself upon the collective human mind so that Death’s countenance would instill the dread and sense of finality that it was designed to inflict.] Well, except maybe Cain. So Azrael waited silently for Eve to suss out what was happening.

She squinted at him. “Hang on, you sorta look like you’re made of the same things that are left after you strip an animal of its flesh and they are left alone for a bit. White, hard bits, all connected together. They’re in everything we eat that’s alive and moving around. Well, not the bugs, but the bigger things.”

Azrael was slightly offended at this comparison and getting impatient. He decided a more aggressive attitude was necessary. DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WOULD LOOK LIKE, IF SOMEONE STRIPPED ALL THE FLESH OFF YOU AND LEFT YOU ALONE FOR A BIT?

She stepped back, her eyes wide, frightened now. “No.” she said simply.

ME.

Eve blinked in surprise. Then a dawning realization finally came to her. “I, I’m dead now, aren’t I?”

YES.

Eve took this in. She looked back down at her body below. “So that’s….”

YES.

She nodded. Turning back to Azrael, she sighed in resignation. “So now what happens?”

NOW YOU PASS BEYOND THE VEIL. AFTER THAT, I DO NOT KNOW.

“It’s just that I think I might be in trouble with the folks Upstairs, if you know what I mean?”

ALL THE SAME, IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO GO. Azrael struck down his scythe upon the pale blue line connecting Eve to her body below. She began to dissipate.

“Oh, well, OK. Bye!”

Hers was the first, and last, soul to ever say “Bye” to him.

The first time he saw her again, a few decades later, he was very surprised. He had a vague understanding that some of the souls he administered to would return via reincarnation. But he had not yet encountered one and was surprised that he recognized her.

His surprise turned into astonishment when it became clear that she recognized him as well. “Oh, Hi, again. Guess I’m back, huh?”

And so it went like that through the ages of humankind. Every few decades, she would reappear and immediately greet him. It almost seemed like she was glad to see him. She asked him his name, and he told her. He introduced her to Binky. An easy familiarity grew between them.

And she just kept returning. Sometimes they treated it as a joke. But one time, when her death had been exceptionally grim, and she seemed sad and exhausted, he dared to ask her why.

WHY DO YOU KEEP RETURNING? WHAT DO YOU RUN FROM?

She looked at him. “You know very well what I run from. I run from Heaven’s judgement. I have no wish to spend eternity in Hell. So unless you can promise me that's not my final destination, I don't think I can stop.”

I CANNOT SPEAK FOR WHERE YOU WOULD GO. BUT SURELY YOU MUST HAVE SOME INKLING OF YOUR OWN SOUL'S NATURE.

Athena paused a moment, considering. "Yes, I think I do," she said quietly. "But I’m not convinced this system is fair.” She laughed, without humor. "And that I said that probably just made it more likely that I will go to Hell.”

“If they can ever catch me.” Then Athena took a deep breath as if gathering her strength and grinned wickedly at Death. "See you later."

YOU WILL DO AS YOU THINK BEST. He bowed, UNTIL OUR NEXT MEETING, MOTHER OF THE EARTH

“Oh, don’t call me that, you sod.” She rolled her eyes but then smiled again. “Until our next meeting.” She turned and walked away from him.

It was not Azrael’s place to ask a human soul where they would go, if they would turn the wheel or take the path to their judgement, but he did wonder every time, if this would be the last time he would speak with Eve. It was inevitable, after all, that eventually she would stop running.

Unless the Apocalypse came first.

When Azrael returned to his library and his collection of hour glasses, he was always pleased to see one in particular, a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and comments and kudos always make my day. I hope all of you are staying safe and finding joy.


	8. Chapter 7: Ruthie Makes a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly fluff with the neighbors getting to know one another. It features a spider, kitties, and quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

One night in early September, Athena came home as usual from work. To the left of her driveway was a clothesline running parallel to the drive. She rarely used it. But tonight, she noticed a gorgeous round spider’s web hanging down. She looked closer, knowing the kind of spider that spun these lovely creations, and found it, hunched down hiding its legs as it usually did when it was not moving about. Looking at the web meant that she was facing the impossible house, and as she stared at the web, she became aware of eyes on her. She focused through the web into the yard and house beyond. Crowley was sitting in their screened back porch, staring at her.

 _It must look like I’ve been staring at him, ugh._ Fortunately, she did not blush when embarrassed. She called over to him,“There is an amazing spider web over here, if you would like to see it.”

_Why did I even say that? Because you don’t want him to think you were staring at him. Besides, he is too much of an asshole to care about a spiderweb._

Crowley looked at her, at little surprised that she had spoken to him. He had noticed she was looking his direction, but it had been clear she wasn’t focused on him at all. In fact, he had been laughing inwardly at how bonkers this cat lady really was. What in the universe’s name was she looking at?

He did like a good spider web. They were spooky, he told himself. A good demon pastime, looking at spiderwebs and admiring their beauty—their menace. He stood up and sauntered down the stairs of the porch, walking towards the annoying neighbor. He stopped when he got to the web. He couldn’t see it very well from his angle, and even though he was already in her yard, strictly speaking, he felt it would be an intrusion of boundaries to come any closer, given their recent skirmish.

“You can probably see it better from this side. And you can also see the spider.” Athena said, surprised but strangely not frightened at his approach.

He bowed under the clothesline at a safe space from the web and walked towards her. She moved away slightly, but he immediately realized she was not doing it out of fear but to let him see it at the best angle.

He looked. An almost perfect sphere, with lines running from it attaching it to the clothesline and ground. Another sphere in the center, with interweaving lines running from inner to outer. It was impressive and simply gorgeous.

“Do you see the spider?” she asked.

Honestly, it was impossible to miss, though it looked nothing like a spider. It looked like a small white ovalish stone with red pointy edges and the middle was covered in black dots. He couldn’t see anything else from the angle, and supposed the rest of it was hiding underneath. He had seen a lot of arachnids in his day, of various sizes and colors and degrees of scariness. This one was not scary at all, just, well, weird.

But he liked weird. He whistled appreciatively.

“Let me introduce you to your new neighbor, the spiny-backed orb weaver.”

Crowley glanced at Athena. “Are you some kind of arachnidologist or something?”

“Is that even a word? Anyways, no. l don’t know the names of very many of them. But one of these ladies lived in my backyard for several months a few years ago, I used to see it when I would take out the compost, so I had to figure out what it was.”

Athena stared at the spider. “I used to greet it, ask it how it’s day was going, I know, total goofball thing to do. But I was a little sad the day it was gone. I kept hoping it would come back, but no.”

“Guess that’s just the way of it,” she smiled a little ruefully and turned back toward Crowley. “Silly to care about a little ol’ spider, here one day and gone the next.”

She felt rather than saw him tense. Crowley’s jaw tightened a little, but his eyes stayed completely hidden behind his dark glasses. Suddenly, he was sweeping under the clothesline, a fluid, sinuous movement.

But before she had time to feel offended at his abrupt departure, he stopped and turned back to face her. “No,” he said softly, “That’s not silly at all.” Then turned on a dime and strode indoors.

She watched his retreat, then looked back to the spider and its beautiful home. She wasn’t sure how she felt. There was an undercurrent of deep, abiding sadness in Crowley’s voice when he had turned around that she did not understand.

It would be many weeks later, lying in the darkness trying to doze off, when she would suddenly wonder how old were Crowley and Aziraphale? And she would remember the spider and the pain in Crowley’s voice, and would suddenly wonder if to him, if to both of them, she was not as fleeting and insignificant as the orb weaver.

That thought didn’t help her insomnia that night.

* * *

A few days later, Athena considered her options. Her friend had just left after their usual Sunday Margaritaville meeting, and she was trying to decide whether to be productive or make another pitcher. The passionfruit pulp wouldn’t last much longer, and she didn’t really have anything she needed to do. Groceries bought, house, well, sorta half-assed cleaned. She didn’t feel like cooking the chicken tagine she had planned. All she really needed to do was a load of laundry. Easy Peasy. She could make spaghetti or eggs or something simple for dinner.

Athena opened the fridge, grabbed the package of chicken thighs, and tossed them in the freezer. She then grabbed the strawberries and the passionfruit pulp package and set them on the counter.

Twenty minutes later found her outside sitting in her favorite beach chair with a startling pink frozen concoction in a pint glass. She played around with her phone for a few minutes, then looked up and across the yard. Aziraphale was sitting in their back screened porch (which had not existed a month ago, she was sure), staring at her curiously. She waved a hello and smiled.

Aziraphale was in fact staring at the colorful drink sitting beside Athena’s chair in the grass. He was fascinated. It was a lovely color, and he wondered if it tasted as delicious as it looked. “My dear, what is that delightful drink beside you? It’s such a lovely color!”

Athena wondered if angels drank alcohol. She remembered Azira’s excitement about the food at the farmer’s market, and decided this might be her opportunity to get to know her supernatural neighbor a little better. And the drink was quite tasty, if she did say so herself.

“It’s a margarita. I’ve just made a pitcher—would you like to try some?”

“Oh, I don’t mean to impose.”

“I made a whole pitcher. I’ll never be able to finish it on my own.” This was, in fact, a complete lie.

Aziraphale had left the porch and was walking quickly toward her, staring at the glowing drink.

“I’ve never seen a pink margarita before—is it frozen?”

“Yeah. It’s strawberry, passion fruit, tequila, and ice. And a little bit of lime juice. Let me get you one.”

“Oh my dear, I am entirely in your debt.”

This is how Athena ended up spending her afternoon getting sloshed with an angel. Aziraphale loved the drink—it had a perfect balance of tart and sweet and was refreshingly cold and boozy. They talked, at first a little awkwardly, then as the alcohol continued to flow, with more enthusiasm and zeal.

When she had unfortunately ran out of both strawberries and passionfruit pulp, Aziraphale announced that he actually had both in his house and hastily retrieved them. The strawberries were cleaned and cut, ready to put in her magical drink machine. Aziraphale was intrigued and delighted by the gadget, as if it worked by magic instead of very normal electricity, and he watched her create the colorful drink.

Athena giggled, “Azira, you know, you’ve now entered Margaritaville.”

He looked at her, confused. She pointed at the name on the drink maker.

“Oh, I see,” he said, at least slightly getting the joke (though of course he hadn’t heard of the song). “Do you come here often?”

Athena laughed, and, realizing from his innocent expression that he did not mean that statement as it sounded, even jokingly, laughed even more. _Oh bless your heart._ “Ha, sometimes when it’s hot outside.” She filled their glasses, and they went back outside.

At some point, Athena slowed the drinking and began drinking water. She was more than halfway to plastered and though Azira seemed a tad tipsy, it was clear that this being, whatever he was, knew how to hold his liquor.

They ended up in her living room, talking about books. At some point, the sun set. Not far after, they heard a tapping on the back door. Athena half walked, half staggered into the kitchen, Aziraphale trailing behind her.

Crowley stood on the back stoop, looking a little put out and completely ignoring Athena. “Angel, you left your phone behind again. Weren’t we supposed to try that Asian fusion place on West Franklin?”

“Oh dearest, I do apologize. But I’ve been having the most lovely frozen concoctions, and we have been discussing the Lost Generation, and I rather lost track of the time.” He looked over to Athena then, feeling a little guilty about being the guest who didn’t know when to leave.

She smiled at him, a smile genuine and bright. “It’s been lovely, Azira. You’re always welcome in Margaritaville.” She pointedly ignored Crowley.

Aziraphale giggled and held her hand and kissed it. “I will definitely come back soon. Good night.” He stepped outside, linking arms with Crowley, who seemed confused, as they walked back to their house.

“Angel, what’s that about Margaritaville? Are you talking about the song?”

“Song? What song?”

* * *

It had been a long, arduous, hungover Monday, and Athena was commuting home at last. Her thoughts turned to her mysterious neighbors.

It was the rude one that she couldn’t figure out (well, truthfully, she couldn’t make heads or tails of either of them, but at least Azira fit nicely into her supernatural dichotomy of angels and devils). Azira was clearly an angel, hell—(actually, ha, ha, heaven), he nearly glowed, and in the sunlight his hair practically was a halo. He emitted love and peace and tranquility.

But what about the other one, what was his name? Starts with a “C”, a “Cr”? She couldn’t remember.

_Cranky. Cranky fucking McCrankleton. That’s his fucking name to me._

Just what _was_ Cranky, anyway? On that first night, he definitely seemed dark and powerful and terrifying, so devil? But he lived with Azira, and from every encounter she had seen, they were clearly old, well, friends or something. The affection Cranky had for Azira was palpable, and vice versa. But how and why would an angel ever cohabitate with a devil?

Plus, Cranky, after their first encounter at least, didn’t seem all that evil. Rude, sarcastic, annoying, yes, but not really evil per se. He seemed to appreciate the orb weaver and her web. Also, he pretty much doted on Azira.

So did that make him an angel? He didn’t seem particularly angelic though.

Maybe it was like they were good cop / bad cop? Athena didn’t like that comparison, as she didn’t like cops.

She supposed that the only way to find out about more about Cranky was to try to spend time with both of them. He did seem more at ease and less, well, awful, when he was around Azira. Around “his angel.”

Athena’s headache thudded at her right temple. No more heavy drinking on Sundays. She would be in bed tonight before 8pm. _Old age,_ she mused, _It’s a bitch._

* * *

About two weeks later, Athena saw a chance to put her plan into action. September showed no sign of embracing autumn, even though the equinox was two days away. The heat was stifling. The two neighbors were sitting in their porch. Time for Margaritaville.

Fortunately, it was a Saturday. And fortunately, Athena had bought the needed supplies beforehand.

She mixed another colorful drink. The mango didn’t quite do the trick, colorwise, so she added strawberries. An interesting orange pink hue was the result. She poured herself a smallish glass and went outside. Fortunately, she immediately saw one of the cats, which gave her a chance to make a noise and attract attention.

“Ruthie, hey, Ruthie!” Ruthie, always a social cat, cried his usual greeting and approached. Athena saw out of the corner of her eye that the two men were looking over at her. Bingo.

“Hello! (she felt suddenly a little socially uneasy about not remembering Cranky’s name). How have you been?” She deliberately took a sip of her frozen concoction.

Aziraphale of course was the one to respond. “Simply wonderful, my dear. Thank you for asking.” He suddenly chuckled, “I take it you are in Margaritaville?”

She laughed. “Actually, yes. It’s too hot to do much else.” She held up the glass. “This one’s mango and strawberry. Would you like to try?”

“Oh my dear, yes, I would love to, and I believe I we have some tequila we can donate to the cause, so to speak.” Aziraphale turned and spoke to Cranky. Athena couldn’t hear what he said, but they seemed to talk back for forth for a short while. Athena was just beginning to wonder if Cranky had nixed the idea, when Aziraphale called back to her, “We’ll be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Before she could even react to this comment, made all the more wondrous by Aziraphale’s utter lack of irony, Cranky chortled and replied loud enough for her to hear. “No one on the entire planet says that anymore, Angel. You are a living relic of the first half of the 20th Century.” As far as she could tell, Azira completely ignored him (though if she were closer, she would have notice a long suffering eye roll).

Athena turned away laughing softly to herself, and put her drink down by her chair. She then walked to the detached garage and opened it, fetching out another beach chair to make three, just in case Cranky decided to grace her with his presence. Once she had it set out, she turned and saw them both approaching. She smiled and went inside to pour them both drinks, and brought them out as they approached her back stoop. She held out both hands and did her best Mr. Roark impersonation, exclaiming dramatically “Welcome to Margaritaville!”

None of them got it, of course, though at least Aziraphale acted delighted at her welcome. Cranky scowled, looking at her as if he was inwardly cringing at this forced social interaction. But he did take the drink from her and sat at the far end of the three chairs. Aziraphale sat in the middle.

“Crowley, isn’t this delicious?” Aziraphale said enthusiastically.

_Ah, Crowley. Got it._

Crowley immediately got out his phone and started scrolling. “It’s OK,” he said without enthusiasm.

Aziraphale tsked and turned to Athena. “It really is delightful, my dear.”

As the three drank their concoctions, Aziraphale and Athena talked idly about Carrboro, which somehow led into a discussion of the merits of cold brew. Suddenly, Juniper scampered out from behind the garage, but stopped abruptly, staring fixedly at Crowley. She was wide-eyed and immediately turned around and ran back the way she came.

“Oh, is that one of yours? I think I’ve seen her in our yard.” Aziraphale asked, as if nothing strange had just happened at all.

“Yes, that’s Juniper.” She turned to Crowley, feeling a little bad about her cat’s reaction. “She was nearly feral when I adopted her, and she is terrified of everyone except me and actually sometimes me.”

Crowley gave her a grin that looked like it was trying to decide to be a grimace instead. “Animals don’t like me. I suppose it’s my winning personality.” He tried to sound like he was pleased about this, but somehow it didn’t seem completely convincing to Athena, partly because she realized that Aziraphale was looking at him with sympathy and a hint of sadness. _Time to change the subject,_ she thought, but it was not necessary, as Crowley’s attention was immediately back to his phone.

Some time later, Athena and Aziraphale were deep in a discussion about _The Wasteland_ , and Athena was showing him the version she had that included all of Pound’s editorial notes, which Aziraphale found fascinating. Athena happened to look over to Crowley, hurriedly punching into his phone, and almost laughed. Instead, she tapped quietly on Aziraphale’s arm, and gave a slight motion for him to turn and see. He did, and his smile became radiant.

Crowley, feeling their stares, looked up. “Wot?”

Athena pointed below his chair. “You’ve got company.”

Crowley bent over to look under his chair. There, sitting quite contentedly, was Ruthie. Crowley blinked, the surprise making its way even through the dark glasses.

“That’s Ruthie,” she gestured toward the tuxedo feline.

When Ruthie saw Crowley, he chirped and stood up. Crowley very slowly and carefully put his hand down near Ruthie. After a short pause, Ruthie approached his hand, smelled it, and then gently licked Crowley index finger.

Crowley ever so gently began to pet Ruthie, who immediately began very loudly purring.

Crowley’s face in that moment lost its tension, its permanent near-scowl, and he smiled with such a wondrous joy of which Athena had not thought him capable.

She turned to Aziraphale and realized his eyes were wet, and he was looking at Crowley with a look of pure love that she would have thought sappy if it had not seemed so utterly true and genuine. He caught himself, looked at her with a much more normal and polite smile, and then resumed their discussion.

At some point, Ruthie ended up in Crowley’s lap, and Crowley returned to looking at his phone, or at least pretending to, but he continued to stroke Ruthie.

A few days later, while Athena was calling for the cats to come inside (a very optimistic activity, really), Ruthie came bounding out of her neighbors screened in porch, Crowley holding the door open for the animal. She waved, but of course he didn’t wave back.

Sometime after that, Athena noticed her neighbors’ new cat door.

* * *

Lovely humans, let me introduce the [spiny backed orbweaver](https://www.myplainview.com/opinion/editorials/article/Wild-About-Texas-Spiny-backed-Orbweaver-8396946.php)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a Margaritaville is a real think, a ridiculous contraption that is part blender, part ice crusher. And yes, I do take people to Margaritaville, and that passion fruit drink is delish. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope everyone is staying well. Where I'm at right now, it's ridiculously hot, and a hurricane is coming.


	9. Chapter 9: Schemes and Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Michael have a tense discussion, and Crowley falls back on a tried and true trick.

As soon as Michael stepped off the escalator, he saw Gabriel striding towards him, scowling. _Uh Oh._

“Gabriel, I can explain,” before the yelling started.

“Michael, I specifically commanded you not to go to Earth.”

“Gabriel, we should discuss this in your office.” _And hopefully give you some time to cool off._

“Fine. Let’s go.” Gabriel turned on his heel and strode off, clearly still very angry.

Michael sighed. And then they walked unhurriedly down the celestial hall. They were not about to be intimidated by their git brother.

When Michael entered Gabriel’s office, they found the Archangel standing on the other side of his desk. His mouth was clenched shut, and Michael could almost feel the anger radiating off him.

“Well…”

“I do apologize for not following your directives,” _like hell I do “M_ y investigations led me to believe that Azrael could give me information about the whereabouts of Eve. And you know he never goes to Heaven.”

“So did you find her?” Gabriel snapped.

“She’s on Earth.”

Gabriel blinked, and his angry expression became one of surprise.

“Tell me all you have discovered.”

And Michael did.

* * *

Sometime later, both Archangels were sitting in silence, with Gabriel’s desk between them.

Gabriel was the first to speak. “I visited Eden during your absence, my sibling.” Michael realized that it had been eons since Gabriel had addressed them in that manner. “You were correct that it is unchanged. But more so than I think you realized.”

Gabriel’s eyes bore into Michael’s. “Eden does not just look like it did. Michael,” and his voice went soft with wonder, “it is literally there, back there, in time.”

“What?” whispered Michael. “How is that possible?”

“I do not know. But Azrael’s warning suggests that this fact somehow threatens the existence of Time itself.”

“It is wise then that we are guarding Eden.”

Gabriel gave Michael a curious look. “Michael, what would happen, do you suppose, if the fabric of Time were destroyed?”

Michael pondered this. “Heaven existed before and is somewhat outside of Time, so I believe Heaven would be safe.”

“And Hell?”

“I’m not sure. But given the souls in Hell are there for eternity, one could reason that Hell too is outside Time.”

“But the Earth would surely be destroyed?”

“I suppose. At least the Earth as it now exists.”

“Azrael seems very convinced that destroying Time would go against Her Plan. Do you think he is correct?”

Michael thought about this for a moment. “Of course, we cannot know for certain. But Azrael does seem to have an understanding of Time that goes beyond ours. And given that he was quite willing to participate in Earth’s destruction last year, I would hazard that at the least, Azrael truly believes that destroying Time goes against Her wishes. So I think it best that we believe him.”

Gabriel nodded, and then his face tightened into a smile that was almost a grimace. “As you said, it is good that we are guarding Eden.” He stood up, obviously wanting Michael to leave.

Michael stood too. “What do you think we should do now?” 

“Keep monitoring the Earth, and keep our watchful guard on Eden. I would like to know more about what the traitor and his demon boyfriend,” Gabriel shuddered, “are up to. And the whereabouts of Eve.”

Michael nodded in agreement. They could not see any other course of action at this point although they had no idea how to go about finding Eve. They rose and left Gabriel’s office without another word, feeling an odd sense of disquiet and foreboding as they shut the door behind them.

Gabriel sat back down at this desk. Despite Azrael’s warning, he could not help but see Eden as a means to achieving Armageddon, albeit somewhat differently than the Great Plan had indicated. Perhaps Eden was Her signal to Gabriel that Her plan was for Armageddon to occur.

Wouldn’t it just show the brat who’s boss if Gabriel managed to end the Earth another way.

Gabriel pondered Azrael’s warning, and tried to figure out how to make Eden into his weapon.

* * *

One Friday evening in early October, Athena walked out of All Day Records, new vinyl in hand and sauntered left towards home. Several store fronts ahead of her, a well-dressed woman bent down to the ground as if to pick up something she had dropped. This event would have been entirely unmemorable had the woman not then lurched forward, almost falling, catching herself with a palm flat on the sidewalk in front of her.

The woman was standing in front of Orange County Social Club, a favorite watering hole of Athena’s, and for one moment, as she drew nearer to the woman, Athena wondered if she had had one too many for happy hour. Then, the woman seemed to poke once more at the ground and then stood in a huff. She strode towards Athena, an angry expression on her face. Athena carefully kept her face neutral and her eyes averted as she and the woman passed one another.

When Athena came to the entrance to OCSC, she noticed a shiny silver coin on the sidewalk. It was a silver dollar. Athena frowned down at it and prodded it with the front of her shoe. It didn’t budge. Athena nudged a little harder this time with the heel of her shoe, but the coin steadfastly refused to move.

Athena felt as if someone was watching her. She looked through the large window into the bar. The bar as usual was very dark, and the window had a reflection, so it was hard to see clearly. But she thought she saw a figure shift to the side.

Athena squatted down and examined the coin. It appeared to be fastened somehow to the sidewalk. She tried to pry it up with a fingernail, but had no success. _The damn thing’s superglued to the sidewalk. What the hell?_

She had a sudden idea. Athena continued to walk down the sidewalk, but when she got to the end of the building, she made a sudden turn left and walked around to the back and entered the bar through the back patio which as usual for that time of year and day was full of people, many of whom were smoking.

As she entered the dark bar, fairly empty since most of the drinkers were enjoying the fair weather outside, she peered through the dark to the large couch with lay in front of the giant window. A figure dressed in dark was sprawled sideways on the couch peering out. She saw the flash of pale skin on his face, but his eyes were hidden by dark glasses.

_For fuck’s sake, that’s Crowley!_ Athena ordered a vodka martini, staying on the side of the long bar that was closest to the back. It was much easier to see people walking past the bar than it was for the people outside to look in, and she had not been sipping on her drink but for a moment or two when she saw a passerby stop and stoop down. He too almost fell over, catching himself with both hands. Crowley’s face lit up in a huge, wicked grin. The poor victim to the prank stared around, and Crowley was suddenly intently starting into a newspaper. The man walked off in a huff, and Crowley put down the paper and watched him stride away. Athena couldn’t hear over the music in the bar, but she would swear that Crowley was chuckling to himself.

_What an absolute weirdo. Who outside of middle school does this kind of shit?_ She silently gave a thank you to the universe that she had not fallen prey to Crowley’s prank and pondered whether she should confront him.

Crowley still made her nervous, especially interacting with him without Aziraphale around. [note: Athena was much more comfortable with Aziraphale than Crowley, who she still referred to sometimes in her mind as Cranky McCranktus. Aziraphale relied on her to answer all questions regarding American Customs and Culture, as he put it, which was honestly a hoot not only because Aziraphale was British (or seemingly so) but also because a great deal of what Athena had to explain to him was more properly titled Twentieth and Twentyfirst Century Customs and Culture. And the angel (as she couldn’t help but think of him, especially given Crowley’s endearment) was always kind, if a bit huffy and proper. And he had a lovely laugh.] So Athena had half a mind to go back out to the patio and finish her drink there before Crowley saw her.

On the other hand, was she really going to be intimidated by a being who glued coins to the pavement?

She screwed up her courage and strode around the bar straight towards the couch. Crowley, who was still looking out the window, waiting for his next victim, didn’t notice her until she spoke. She was just across the coffee table from him.

“Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley jumped in surprise, and for a moment she saw a hint of fangs in his partly open mouth. His limbs coiled around him. But he then tried to pretend that this had not happened, glaring up at her with feigned nonchalance.

“Cat girl.” Which was as close to a greeting as she was going to get.

Uninvited, she perched down on the couch perpendicular to his own. “This is a great place to people watch, isn’t it?” She smiled innocently at him. She knew of course that he had seen her earlier and that he knew she knew about the coin.

Oh, this was fun.

Crowley seemed not to know what to do. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

She continued to smile at him. An awkward silence fell between them, and Crowley despite himself began fidgeting.

“Crowley,” she kept her voice gentle and friendly.

Crowley stared at her as if she were about to bite him. Or maybe like he was considering biting her.

_Don’t scare the cornered animal._

“Crowley, why did you glue that coin to the sidewalk?” She tried for her best nonjudgement, really I’m just curious voice.

“Dunno whatcha mean.”

Athena stood up slightly so as to see the sidewalk. “That coin, there.” She pointed at the shiny dollar waiting to annoy another hapless pedestrian. She sat back down. “Why did you glue that coin to the sidewalk?”

Crowley spluttered and seemed be at a loss for words.

And then she couldn’t help it. She started laughing. “Quite the merry prankster, aren’t we?”

Crowley frowned at her, trying to figure out whether to be offended. Then he relaxed somewhat, lengthening his limbs out in his usual slouch.

“M’not merry,” Crowley grumbled, but Athena could tell he wasn’t really upset.

“Besides, I’d be more like a Yippie, throwing pies at people who deserved it.”

Athena snorted. “Yeah, somehow I don’t see you in a van with a bunch of hippies.”

“Nope.” Crowley popped the ‘p.’

“How did you know?”

Athena’s brain, a little abuzz from the martini she had practically inhaled, was taking its sweet time in regaining the thread of the conversation.

“Oh, you mean about the coin?”

Crowley nodded.

“I saw a woman nearly trip and then get really angry. So I had a suspicion that something was up. And I thought I vaguely saw a person through the glass, so I thought I’d go in and see what’s up.”

“Using the back entrance.” Crowley’s eyebrows rose a little and he pursed his lips. “Clever.”

“Thank you.”

Athena realized she should probably leave and let Crowley get back to his fun. Her glass was empty anyway. But before she could open her mouth, Crowley beat her. “Seeing as I played the prank on you, and seeing as you thwarted me, seems right I should buy the next round.”

Athena tried to hide her surprise. This was the most civil conversation she had ever had with this … possibly supernatural being. “Oh, thank you. I was drinking a vodka martini, just a tad dirty.”

Crowley smirked and looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic and probably salacious. But he held his tongue, picked up their empty glasses and ambled to the bar, his hips swaying more than she though hips should be able to sway.

_I should really learn that walk. It says “I don’t give a shit” and “Look how enticing I am,” all at the same time._

The next few hours, Athena and Crowley watched as more innocents ( _suckers_ she had started calling them) tripped trying to pick up an innocuous coin. And they both laughed, every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OCSC and All Day Records are two real places. All Day does online sales (it is too small to safely open) so please give it some love. alldayrecords.com I sure hope I get to go back to OCSC some day.
> 
> Yippies is the Youth International Party, a radical political group formed in the late 60's by Abbie Hoffman and Paul Krassner who was well known for street theater and pranks. Merry Pranksters was a drug-fueled commune (of sorts) who hung out with Ken Kesey and did a helluva lot of LSD.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for all comments and kudos. I hope everyone is, well, as sane and well and happy as you can be right now.


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